Six Months Later
by HelenSES
Summary: This is what I think happened to Scarlett and Rhett. I have set the story in March 1874 - six months after Melly has died and Rhett has left Scarlett. Scarlett is trying to carve out a new life for herself in Atlanta when Rhett suddenly reappears. NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_This is my first attempt at Fanfic. I have been hovering on this site for a couple of months and think it is brilliant – and I love that everyone is so in love with the Rhett and Scarlett story as much as I am! Any reviews welcome – good and bad! I hope you enjoy. Of course, it goes without saying that I do not own GWTW (if only I had written such a marvellous story!) and all the characters are owned by MM and her estate._

_A/N – August 2013. When I started writing this in early 2012, I never thought it would become as long as it did, but I felt that there were a lot of issues for the warring spouses to iron out. And there were also a lot of minor characters that I wanted to flesh out. When I have had a rest from fan fic, I will come back and edit this story – particularly the first few chapters. I feel as though I found my groove from about Chapter 8 or 9 – the writing (I think) improves after the initial few chapters but I don't yet have the energy to do the big edit._

_It took me hundreds of hours to write this. If you do read this and have a thought – please let me know. If you give up or stop reading because you become bored or lose interest or it doesn't ring true – perhaps you can also tell me why. It's the only way any of us will ever improve. And I have realised that reviews spur authors on to write – other stories, amendments etc._

Six Months Later

The carriage pulled along the cobbled street and turned left into Peachtree Street, jostling Scarlett awake with the change of direction. She yawned and rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window. She would be home soon.

It had been a long day, her feeling of tiredness compounded by the fact she had woken at two o'clock in the morning and tossed and turned for more than four hours in the vain hope that sleep might reclaim her, before rising and starting her day. She rarely slept well these days and whilst she found falling asleep easy, staying asleep was harder.

She had spent the morning at the store – something she had neglected for the first three months after Rhett's departure – going over the books and trying to guide Hugh in his management of the business – and then she had gone over to Maybelle Picard's, to sew and embroider for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy. When Melanie had died and Scarlett realised how much she had loved her and when Rhett walked out of their house a week later, after telling her he no longer gave a damn about her, she had taken stock of who her real friends were and realised she had none left – apart from Ashley. Melanie and Rhett had been her best friends and her two stalwarts – the two people who had never let her down. Then in quick succession they had both let her down – Melanie by dying and Rhett by abandoning her. The women she had befriended in the early days of her third marriage were not friends but loose acquaintances. They didn't really care about her and she now wondered whether if she hadn't thrown her lavish parties, hadn't always dressed expensively and in the latest fashions, whether they would have even bothered to cross the street to say hello to her.

With this realisation and an overwhelming need to quell her loneliness, she had set about trying to build some old bridges and although initially the Old Guard had given her short shrift, gradually the barriers weakened as people pitied her – everyone knew that Rhett had left her and no one felt able to deny that her grief for Melanie was profound and genuine. Whilst Scarlett didn't want pity – hated pity – if it led to some sort of friendship and companionship, she would put up with their patronising looks.

And so, two months to the day after Melanie's death and Rhett telling her he didn't love her, after Scarlett heard that Maybelle Picard and Fanny Elsing were hosting a Christmas fete to raise money for the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of the Glorious Dead, she sent Maybelle a card and asked if she might help. To her surprise, and without warning, Maybelle turned up on Scarlett's doorstep the very next day, when Wade was at school and Ella was with her governess, and asked Scarlett if she really meant it. Scarlett, eager to please, said that "of course" she meant it and Maybelle, knowing that the local causes had missed the Butlers' money since Bonnie had died and Rhett's pursuit of respectability had stopped, persuaded Scarlett not only to donate $200 of furniture from her store but extracted from her a further $300 as the top raffle prize. But even more astonishing, Scarlett agreed to help run the cake stall, alongside one of her most hated enemies, India Wilkes. After the fete, when even the most hardened of the Old Guard begrudgingly agreed that the success of the fete had been in large part, due to Scarlett's generosity, Maybelle invited her to join the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy and to take Melly's place as secretary. Scarlett disliked sewing, and even more disliked the inane chatter that went with such pursuits, but knowing that it was a small step towards gaining some sort of acceptance in the town that had been her home on and off for almost half her life, she graciously accepted the invitation. And that was how Scarlett had come to spend the afternoon at Maybelle's small, poky house in the poorer part of Atlanta, some fifteen blocks away from Scarlett's extravagant mansion.

She sighed as she thought of the afternoon and wished that somehow she had been better able to control her temper. Over the last three months, she had learnt to bite her tongue at such gatherings and whilst the odd sarcastic comment involuntarily passed her lips, often she said it so quietly that it was lost in the general melee of the surrounding conversation. If anyone did hear her barbs, they were infrequent enough that the women actually doubted they had heard correctly. But today had been different.

She knew people gossiped about the state of her marriage and if people asked where Rhett was, she fed them the same lie she fed Ella and Wade: "He has some urgent business in Europe to attend to – he keeps on getting delayed. He'll be back soon," and that usually shut the old busybodies up. But this afternoon, already fatigued from her lack of sleep which made her even more sensitive to the parlous state of her marriage, she had snapped at Dolly Merriwether. Mrs Merriwether had deliberately cornered Scarlett in Maybelle's parlour.

"Have you heard from Captain Butler recently, Scarlett?" she had asked. Scarlett kept her eyes on her needlework.

"Last week. He's in Ireland at the moment. Goodness knows what he is doing there – something about horses I think."

"Ireland? That's funny." Scarlett looked up at Mrs Merriwether as the old lady raised her eyebrows and felt she was falling into a trap.

"What's funny about it?" Scarlett snapped.

"Just that my sister met a Captain Butler and his mother in Savannah two weeks ago." So he was in Georgia. That was the first time she had heard anything concrete about his whereabouts.

"I'm sure there is more than one Captain Butler, Mrs Merriwether," Scarlett said, her jaw tightening in defiance and her emerald green eyes flashing in irritation.

"Only one Captain Rhett Butler though, surely?"

She should have stopped but her anger was rising inside her and she could no longer quell it.

"Who are you to tell me where my husband is? I am his wife and if I say he is in Ireland, he is in Ireland," she spat out. The other women looked up from their needlework and stared at the direction of the raised voices. Scarlett stood up and faced her silent accusers. "What are you all staring at? I think it is about time that people stopped whiling away their time gossiping about other people's business." She put the cushion she was working on down on her seat and grabbed her small black velvet purse – something she carried everywhere for in it was Rhett's last gift to her – his handkerchief – together with a small miniature of each of her children.

"Maybelle, thank you for hosting today. I'm suddenly not feeling very well and think it best if I go home." She tried to sound as gracious as possible, even though she was making her excuses through gritted teeth. The room remained silent save for Scarlett's heels clipping the floor as she made her exit.

Maybelle got up and followed her. As Scarlett grabbed her black bonnet and luxurious cashmere shawl, Maybelle placed a friendly hand on Scarlett's arm. "Don't listen to what people say, Scarlett. No one knows what is really going on in people's lives." She gave her a warm smile and Scarlett smiled back. She was not a true friend – yet – but she was friendly and she didn't have the malicious streak that some of the old biddies had who it seemed, still wouldn't mind seeing Scarlett O'Hara fall flat on her face.

"Thank you Maybelle although maybe we should re-think whether I should really host the next meeting or even continue as secretary." She turned, left the house and got into her waiting carriage.

~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~

"Weez here, Miss Scarlett," Pork called out as he pulled the horse to a halt. He came round to help her out – she had given up trying to tell him she was perfectly capable of escorting herself out of the carriage. What she didn't realise was that there was a great deal of affection held by Pork, Dilcey and Mammy for their mistress and they had become increasingly alarmed by her disappearing frame, lifeless eyes and sallow skin. They all knew she slept badly – and barely ate these days – and even when Dilcey cooked up a delicious stew or ordered in the best beef from miles around, she barely touched her plate. As for her sleeping, Mammy had initially and covertly laced the stews or other sauces with brandy in the misplaced hope that this might induce slumber but had given up when it had made no difference. They were all still alert to Scarlett getting up in the middle of the night – sometimes she was known to even put her wrapper on and sit on the veranda in the cool air bathed in the moonlight while she sipped some hot lemon.

Scarlett took Pork's hand and stepped out. "Thank you, Pork," she said as she finally extricated her hand from his grasp. He drove the carriage off to the coach house and she wearily climbed up the marble steps to her front door. She took out her purse and searched for her key, which was buried underneath Rhett's handkerchief. She took it out, slotted it in the door and turned it.

The heavy oak door, intricately carved at the top with what Rhett had remarked at the time looked like gargoyles but which Scarlett had insisted were lions, creaked open. As the gap grew wider, she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. She could hear squeals of childish laughter – something she had not heard since Rhett had left. Actually, no, she corrected herself, before Bonnie had died. She then heard Mammy's cackle rise above the din – so unlike Mammy. And then she heard Ella's unmistakeable high pitched squeal, "Don't Uncle Rhett...I...can't breathe..." and then more laughter. So the prodigal husband had returned and with his return had seemingly turned the house upside down.

She tiptoed in and then gently closed the door. She wanted to observe, before she was observed, and made her way silently to the parlour. She breathed in sharply, astonished at what she saw. Rhett was down on his hands and knees, with Ella on his back, and Beau and Wade were running round the furniture with bows, arrows and wooden swords, and bandanas over their heads, and Mammy was sitting down with discarded wrapping paper all around her and what seemed to be a couple of new petticoats – one in a vibrant, orange hue and another in a grey taffeta. There were other packages scattered around the room – some opened, some with their neat bows still tied on.

She stood for a couple of minutes, surveying the scene. She wasn't sure if the parlour had ever been witness to so much happiness and excitement – the children had always played in the nursery – and she was surprised to see Mammy sitting on a chair, just watching the events. Not that she begrudged Mammy any downtime. She knew that Mammy was part of her family and had been a surrogate mother to her – never more so than after Melly's funeral when she had returned to Tara.

It was Wade that saw her first. He stopped, abruptly, just as he was about to attempt another swashbuckling fight with his cousin, and as he did, the other occupants in the room looked to where he was staring.

"Mother," he said. "I...we..didn't realise you were home." She saw his previous exuberance disappear to be replaced by timidity and uncertainty. No doubt he was expecting her to unleash her temper and scold him for the state the room was in. But instead she surprised him and walked over and kissed him on his forehead and then ruffled his hair. He came up to her neck – soon he would be taller than she was.

"Have you had fun today, darling?" she asked, deliberately avoiding looking at her rogue husband. Not waiting for her son to answer, she turned to Beau. "I had forgotten you were coming over Beau. Are you staying for supper? You're welcome to." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wade grin - he loved Beau and he also knew that his mother would keep her temper in check if his cousin was around.

"Thank you, Aunt Scarlett. I would love to."

"Well, why don't you both run upstairs and get cleaned up and then we can see about eating." Ella had now clambered off her stepfather's back and was at Scarlett's side.

"Mother – look what Uncle Rhett brought me. A new doll. It's from Paris and with a whole wardrobe of clothes." Scarlett bent down to her youngest child and feigned interest in the present and "ummed" and "aahed" as Ella showed her the various outfits. Rhett had obviously not stinted in lavishing gifts on his step-children. After a while, Scarlett straightened up and then said to Mammy who was now hovering close to Ella, "Mammy, would you mind giving Ella a quick bath and change her clothes and then bring her down for dinner. She is filthy. I'm not quite sure what you have been up to today, Ella, but it looks like you have been rolling around in the garden."

"Dey was playin' hide an' seek, Miss Scarlett."

"Oh, I see," but her mind had already wandered off and now she was staring at the man who had broken her heart six months ago and who had had the audacity to just turn up, announced, after many months of abandonment. Mammy ushered Ella out and Scarlett walked a couple of steps to where Rhett was sitting. God, he was so maddening! He was lounging on a couch with his usual sardonic grin etched on his face, evidently amused by Scarlett's attempts at motherhood.

"You're back then," she finally said, her beautiful eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion, hatred and love. She hated him for what he had done to her but she also knew from the fluttering of her heart that she still loved him. Six months separation had not cooled her feelings.

"For a week or so, yes." He took out a cigar from his monogrammed case – one she had given him as a wedding present – and lit it. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions but checked herself. If he was going to be cool with her, she could match him in ambivalence, even though it felt as though her heart was in her mouth. Neither of them said anything for a while but their eyes were locked on each other.

Scarlett took a careful look at him. His face was less bloated than before and he had lost weight – from outward appearances at least, he looked as though he had cut back on his drinking. His face was dark and swarthy, seemingly tanned from recent exposure to the sun, and his teeth still gleamed like a pirate's. God, he was handsome! How she wanted to run over to him and put her fingers through his black hair. But of course that was out of the question.

Finally, Scarlett spoke. "Are you staying for dinner tonight? I tend to eat with the children these days..." Her voice trailed off – she didn't want to reveal that it was loneliness that made her eat with her children.

"Is that an invitation?" he asked, mocking her with his eyes.

So, he was going to be difficult, was he? Her nostrils flared with anger. Why couldn't he be civil? Why was he here anyway?

But she didn't rise to his bait. "Yes it is," she said simply. And then she added to make it clear that she didn't care where he ate, "But suit yourself. It doesn't really bother me where you eat." The first of many lies that she would end up telling, she thought.

"I'll join the family for dinner," he said and then, he got up from the chair, smouldering cigar still in his hand, and moved across the room. Scarlett was blocking his exit and as he tried to pass her, his suit brushed past her body and she felt electrified by the touch.

"Excuse me," he said and she stepped aside. Only when she could no longer hear his footsteps on the carpeted stairs did she allow the tears that had pricked her eyes for the last ten minutes to finally fall.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all my wonderful reviewers. You are all so kind. This is the next chapter. I have an idea where this is going and I think it will be about 10 to 12 chapters. I was re-reading the last 50 or 60 pages last night of GWTW and they really are so depressing. Did Rhett's love for our beloved Scarlett really die out?_

_As before, I wish I did but I don't own any rights in GWTW or any of MM's deliciously wonderful characters._

Chapter 2

Scarlett made her way up the central staircase and saw from the grandfather clock that dominated the hallway that she had just over an hour to compose herself and prepare for her first meal with her estranged husband in over six months. She silently thanked God that she had changed the meal arrangements as the idea of being forced to eat alone with Rhett filled her with dread. Far better for there to be other people around to absorb the friction between them.

She reached her bedroom and glanced down the hallway to where his room was. She could see a warm amber glow seeping underneath the door – signalling his presence. She went into her bedroom, closed the door and immediately started taking her black dress off. It was fiddly – too many hooks – and whilst she could have called for Mammy she didn't want Mammy or any of the servants knowing she was changing for dinner. She wanted to continue the pretence that her husband's long overdue presence meant nothing to her.

When she was finally standing in just her corset, petticoat and drawers, she went over to her closet and rifled through her dresses. She had not worn any colour since Bonnie had died but tonight, she was tempted to do so. If Melly had not died, she would have been out of mourning two months ago but with Melly's death, her mourning period extended by another six to eight months. Technically, she mused, wearing some sort of colour would not be considered indecent.

She sighed as she thought of Melly. Why had she been too blind to see how much she loved and needed Melly, until it was too late? At least with Rhett she could somehow justify her obstinate foolishness with the fact he had never told her he had loved her – on the contrary he had told her time and time again the exact opposite – but with Melly! Melly had told her on her first wedding day, nearly thirteen years ago that she loved her and thought of her as her sister. And yet...and yet...Scarlett groaned at her stupidity. Why had she systematically rejected Melly's love when she had always needed her so much and indeed, _had_ loved her? Yes she was a fool, and she hadn't needed Rhett to tell her that.

Her hands lingered over a soft lilac creation that she had had made from some silk Rhett had bought for her from Paris – that he had had shipped over when she was convalescing after her miscarriage. She hesitated. She had worn the dress only once – when Rhett had been in his benevolent and, dare she say it, guilty phase and had taken her to a concert for her birthday, just before Bonnie had died. She pulled it out from the rail and examined it. It was still fashionable – the arms were tight, flaring slightly at the ends and whilst it was reasonably low cut, it was not immodestly so. She had learnt that if you were coming out of mourning, lilacs and other soft colours were the perfect stepping stone. She held it up against her body and looked in the mirror. Yes, this would do. Besides, only the children and Rhett would see her. None of Atlanta's tittle tattles would be able to cast their disapproving looks on her.

She struggled into it – and managed to do it all up – except the bottom hook which, despite her willpower, her fingers would not stretch to. She looked in the mirror and decided it didn't matter – only someone with a trained eye would notice the naked eyelet. She sat down at her vanity and tidied her hair into a neat chignon and then put some small diamond earbobs in her ears, not the large, garish ones that Rhett had bestowed on her when Bonnie was born but a smaller version that her Aunt Eulalie had given her when she had visited her this last Christmas. Apparently, they had been her grandmother's – she had rather liked owning something that her controversial grandmother had worn.

She looked into the mirror again and hoped that she hadn't overdressed. She could have worn the pale mint gown she had discretely purchased from a small boutique in Marietta last month but even though she knew it flattered her to perfection, bringing out the green in her eyes and showing off her tiny waist, she sensed that Rhett would think she was trying to seduce him. Hadn't she worn green when she was trying to do just that, at the horse's jail, all those many moons ago? And she wasn't – she was just...what was she trying to achieve here? Yes, she remembered. She wanted him to want her again and then she would throw it in his face – and hurt him like he had hurt her.

The clock in her room showed she had twenty minutes before dinner. She felt her stomach flutter in nervous anticipation and she instinctively stroked it. She didn't want to go down to dinner early in case she would be alone with Rhett – his sudden reappearance had unsettled her and she wanted to gauge his mood and reason for returning before she deigned to spend any time alone with him. She got up from her chair and draped her black dress across her chaise longue. As she did so, she thought she heard knocking at the front door and strained to hear who it was. Then she heard the unmistakeable tread of her husband, walking past her door and down the stairs and then some high pitched exclamations and laughter followed by muffled voices. Her anger rose again – if he had changed his mind about dinner, at the very least he could have told her. No doubt some old friends of his were calling on him and he was being enticed for a night out at that, that _sporting_ bar.

She looked again in her vanity mirror and saw how thin she had become. Even after three children, she had always been pleased with her bosom but now it had shrivelled away to nothingness. Her hands went to her chest and felt the upper contours of her body. She had the body of a young teenager, not of a twenty-nine year old woman. Her face lacked any colour and her eyes were devoid of sparkle. She practiced smiling but her face had become too thin to conjure up her famed dimples. She reached for her pot of rouge but then stopped herself. Rhett had never liked her painting her face too much and she wondered what malicious barbs he would throw her way if she turned up in a dress that wasn't black and with a painted face too. So she left the rouge untouched and instead, pinched her cheeks and pumped some Verbena scent around her ears and bosom. She would have to do.

She opened her door and heard voices. So Rhett's guests were still here! She didn't want either of her children, or Beau, seeing them so she went to Ella's room first – but it was empty – and then went to Wade's room – but all she could see were the clothes he had been wearing tossed in a pile and his new bow and arrow placed carefully on a table. She went into the nursery – that was empty too. Feeling slightly nauseous at the impending scene, she made her way back down the corridor to the top of the stairs and descended, tightly gripping the banister.

As she was half way down, she caught sight of the hat stand – two ladies' bonnets were on it, as well as two shawls. Scarlett's hackles rose - how dare her husband invite his bawdy friends into _her_ home. It was not his anymore – he had given up the right to call it a home when he had walked out on her. And with her children in the house. And the servants! God's nightgown! Everyone would dine out on this story for months if it got out.

She quickened her step, almost racing down the last fifteen or so steps. Several conversations were running through her head and she didn't care who heard what she had to say to this vile man. She got to the bottom of the stairs and looked into the dining room, but whilst it was all lit up for dinner, no one was there. She walked across the hallway to the parlour and saw him first.

"Rhett," she hissed. He turned to look at her, now changed into a fresh shirt and cravat, and gave her a quizzical look. "Rhett, what in God's name..." and then she stopped as first Pittypat Hamilton came into her vision and then India Wilkes. Great balls of fire! What on earth was India doing in her house? And to be caught out wearing a coloured dress! She looked at the two women and then looked back at the hat stand. If she had not been so riled, she would have noticed that the garments on the hat stand were black and she might have realised that at least one of them was vaguely familiar for Aunt Pitty never went anywhere without her black bonnet.

"Scarlett, my dear," Rhett said, his Charleston drawl emphasising the term of endearment, "Aunt Pitty and India came over to collect Beau to take him home but I invited them both to stay for dinner. Dilcey said there was enough food." Rhett walked over to Scarlett and handed her a drink. It was champagne – her favourite – but she had barely touched alcohol since the night of Melly's funeral and she had a funny feeling the bubbles would immediately go to her head. She needed to keep her wits about her tonight. She was on uncertain territory.

"I...erm...I think I'll just have elderflower cordial, Pork." She gestured to Pork who was sitting by the drinks cabinet playing cards with the three children and then she looked at her husband whose eyes were dancing with malicious glee and silently cursed him.

"But darling," he purred. She knew that only she could hear the heavy sarcasm in his voice. "I missed all the end of year festivities and I thought, with your aunt here, we could have a toast, to belatedly welcome the New Year in." She glared at him and he grinned back.

"As you wish, darling." Two could play at this game, she thought. She took the glass and sipped from it and then walked over to her aunt by marriage and kissed her on both cheeks.

"It's about time Auntie that we had you over for dinner. What a perfectly splendid idea of Rhett's. It's been far too long!" Aunt Pitty smiled warmly and Scarlett inwardly sighed with relief. Her lilac dress had evidently gone unnoticed by Pitty.

"Scarlett dear! You mustn't worry. Everyone knows how busy you have been – what with the Widows and Orphans Confederacy..." out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw Rhett raise his eyebrows, "...and the children and the fete... and the store..." Pitty rarely saw any harm in anyone. She was a bit like Melly in that way although she didn't have Melanie's penchant for avoiding gossip.

India had been standing mute, alongside Pitty but finally spoke. "Scarlett, you look well." A wry smile crept onto Scarlett's face. That must have been the first compliment India had ever paid her. India continued: "I was sorry to miss you at Maybelle's today but I was preparing the house for Honey to visit. She's arriving later tonight to stay for a few days – in fact, Ashley is at home now, in case she arrives early." Scarlett shot a quick look at Rhett at the mention of Ashley's name but his face was as bland as ever.

"Well," Scarlett said, suddenly feeling awkward with her unexpected visitors, "Shall we go through for dinner?"

"Wade, take our guests and your sister through," Rhett said. "I need to have a quiet word with your mother. Forgive us ladies." Scarlett looked at Rhett and for the second time that evening, felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. Oh please God, she thought, please don't start an argument with me, not tonight.

Rhett watched as they filed out of the room, led by his stepson and Pork. When they were out of sight, Rhett grabbed Scarlett's arm and twisted her round. "Your dress is half undone." His hands went expertly to the small of her back and she felt a couple of pulls as he placed the hooks in the eyelets. He had never told her where he had learnt to dress women and she suddenly remembered their honeymoon, when he had sometimes dismissed the maid and laced her himself.

He pulled her in again and she let out a small yelp of pain. She was sure he was being deliberately rough. "Rhett, please stop it. You're hurting me."

"I will not have the mother of my step children walking around in a state of dishabille." She felt another sharp twinge.

"Only one. There was only one I couldn't manage," she said quietly.

"You've missed three and I am having to re-do most of them." He was taking his time and she found that she was, in spite of herself, relishing his touch. He hadn't touched her since...since that mad night nearly two years ago and even if he was touching her through four layers of fabric, for some reason she felt a frisson of excitement.

"Right. You're properly dressed now." He moved away and picked up his champagne flute and then, without looking at his wife again, left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was thankfully uneventful. Rhett amused Pitty with tales of his European adventures – some of which, Scarlett was pretty sure she had heard before and moreover, she was also pretty sure that Rhett knew she would recognise them. India was perfectly civil and mostly kept her conversation focussed on Wade and Beau and Scarlett just sat back and listened. After a while and feeling decidedly excluded, Ella started yawning and Scarlett excused her and asked Mammy to put her to bed. "I'll be up shortly to tuck you in," she whispered to Ella as Ella went round the table kissing everyone goodnight. Ella only nodded and then went to Rhett.

"Uncle Rhett," she lisped. "Can you read me a story?" Rhett looked at Scarlett and then at their guests. India, sensing perhaps that they were on the verge of outstaying their welcome and her first ever dinner invitation at Scarlett's home, stood up.

"Beau, Auntie. I think it's time we went home. I don't want Ashley to think we have abandoned him for the night."

"Yes, you're right my dear." Aunt Pitty said, nodding her head furiously. She was definitely a bit tipsy. "What a wonderful evening and so good to see you again Captain Butler. Everyone has been _quite_ worried about you." She immediately shut her mouth as though she had said too much.

"Is that right?" Rhett asked, staring at his wife.

"Yes," Pitty said, her fat childish mouth, twitching. "I mean Dolly Merriweather has been telling everyone that you have been in Savannah but of course you haven't! It's just as Scarlett said. You have been in Europe." Pitty was looking for reassurance that Scarlett hadn't lied to her.

"Savannah, Europe. Same difference really."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Captain Butler." Pitty's head shook in confusion.

Scarlett, who had until then, been a silent witness to the exchange, interjected.

"Auntie, shall I get Pork to drive you back home? It's getting late. It's almost half past eight." Scarlett stood up and as she did so, India placed a hand on Scarlett's arm. She had made the same gesture to Scarlett at Melly's wake, when the two of them had stood side by side, next to Ashley to receive visitors – then it was for solidarity, now it was as a very small gesture of friendship. Scarlett slightly bristled at India's touch – ever since Melly had died, there had been a slight thaw in India's opinion of Scarlett. The snide remarks had ceased too but Scarlett couldn't quite forget how nasty and vindictive India had been to her.

"Yes, India?" Scarlett asked, her right eyebrow rising quizzically. Scarlett heard India swallow hard.

"Thank you, Scarlett for dinner. It was nice to spend time with Wade...and Ella...and of course you and Captain Butler...we don't see enough of you. And thank you for the offer of your carriage but a good brisk walk will do us all good." She gestured to her nephew. "Come on Beau. Thank your Aunt Scarlett." Beau did as he was told and then hugged his aunt tightly, which surprised Scarlett, before saying goodbye to Rhett and his cousin. Scarlett saw her guests out and by the time she returned, Wade had scampered off to his bedroom.

"I'll go and say goodnight to the children," Scarlett said, backing out of the dining room. She still wasn't quite ready for any confrontation with her husband. Rhett, who was pouring himself a whisky, looked up at her. She felt compelled to continue. "Don't worry about reading Ella a story. If she's not already asleep, I'll read her something."

"Since when did you start acting out your motherly duties?" he snorted. His remark stung Scarlett and she took another step back.

"Why..." but she could neither think of a quick enough retort nor one equal in venom, so she said nothing and turned her back on him. But something stopped her from leaving the room entirely. She stood motionless for a minute and then she turned around again to face him. He was still standing by the rich oak sideboard that housed the hard liquor of the Butler household.

"Rhett...I..." she stumbled and then allowed a silence to fall between them again. How did they slip into their pantomime roles so easily? Why was it so hard talking to her husband?

"Yes, Mrs Butler?"

"I just wanted to say, thank you for tonight." And she meant it. He had behaved as the perfect host even if he had ignored his wife for most of the evening.

For a moment, he seemed disarmed. His eyes weren't mocking her and she thought she saw them flicker with that old cat-at-a-mouse hole look that had peppered the earlier years of their marriage. But just as quickly his gaze was smooth and bland.

"I don't break all my promises Scarlett. And returning from time to time isn't too hard a promise to keep when most of my business interests are conducted out of Atlanta."

"Oh..." Her heart suddenly felt heavy. Of course he hadn't come back to see her! It was his business that was the allure. She watched him as he downed the whisky and put the glass lid on the decanter. Then he picked up his jacket that he had removed before he had sat down for dinner and started putting it on again.

"Are you going out?" Scarlett asked tentatively.

"Why yes. I have some old...er... friends to see and I doubt I'll be home tonight. Good night."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi everyone. Thank you so much for your reviews. You don't realise quite how helpful they are! Sunnyray – I liked your comments particularly. I wasn't going to make Scarlett jealous about Belle but with your comments, I definitely was not going to. SweetCarolina, Greenvelvet curtains, Imgonewiththewind, iambbq etc – you are all wonderful!_

_Sorry if this is going slowly(it doesn't have the snappiness of Eugiene Victoria's wonderful story "It's Complicated") – but I think that Scarlett would be terribly conflicted – mad at him, in love still, hating him. If Rhett had come back sooner, maybe she would be softer towards him but I think there is a lot of hurt there. He abandoned her and I would imagine Miss Scarlett would not take this entirely lying down!_

_Bear with me – the next chapter should deal more with their first real confrontation._

_As usual, I wished I had written GWTW but alas I did not and could never hope to replicate such a masterpiece so the characters all belong to the wonderful and insightful MM and her estate. Enjoy!_

Chapter 3

For the first time in weeks, Scarlett slept through the night and was only woken by a gentle knocking at her door. She stretched her body along the cream silk sheets and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Come in," she croaked and plumped her pillows and sat up.

Wade shyly entered. "Good morning, darling," she said and smiled at him. Wade padded over to the side of her bed.

"Good morning Mother." Scarlett reached up to kiss him and as she placed his lips on his cheek, she saw a flash of surprise register on his face. She rarely kissed him and if she did, it was usually before he went to bed but she had made a concerted effort in recent months to be more tactile and loving towards both her children, even though it didn't come naturally. Scarlett was painfully aware that Melly's death had not only left a gaping hole in her life but in her children's lives too – especially Wade who had regarded his aunt as a second mother.

"Have you learnt your French vocabulary?" she asked, trying to make conversation with her eldest child. He was dressed for school and had a couple of school books in his hand.

"I've tried to," he said, "But everything was so exciting yesterday what with Uncle Rhett coming home and..." his voice trailed off and he looked down at his feet. After Rhett had left, Scarlett had taken the initiative and decided that Wade needed to mix more with boys his own age, rather than while away his days in the nursery with Ella and a governess and so enrolled him in the West Atlanta Scholars Academy for Boys. It wasn't the most elite school in the neighbourhood nor the most expensive but it was where the old Atlanta families aspired to send their children, if they could afford. She had taken heed of Rhett's words in the dying days of their marriage and realised that she did not want him fraternising with the "white Yankee trash" that had hung around her for the last few years. She wanted Wade to be with people of the Hamilton class (if not the Butler class). To enthuse him about his fresh start, she spoke to Ashley and told him that she would pay the fees for Beau to go too. Initially, Ashley refused her offer but she had not been the belle of Clayton County and two other counties for nothing and, employing her feminine wiles and reminding him of her promise to Melanie, she managed to extract reluctant agreement from him –on the condition that he would pay her back one day.

"Mother..." Wade said, and again he neglected to finish his sentence. His brown soulful eyes looked at Scarlett and she was reminded of the gentleness of his father.

"Yes, darling?" She could sense that something was troubling him but didn't know how to coax it out of him. She was no Melanie.

"Well, I was just wondering…" He paused again and Scarlett felt irritation growing inside her but she bit her lip and held her tongue.

"What is it sweetheart?" He moved a stray chestnut curl away from his eyes and then she audibly heard him take a deep breath.

"Is Uncle Rhett going away again? Or is he staying?" Scarlett laughed nervously and then, because she thought Melly would do it, she reached out to her son and pulled him to her so that he was nestling against her. She was not oblivious to the fact that Wade had some sort of measure of her relationship with his stepfather, even though she had made vain attempts to hide their troubles from him.

"Darling, you know Uncle Rhett. He is always going away! I suspect he'll be on some new adventure soon but he's here for now."

"Why can't we ever go with him? He took Bonnie with him to New Orleans and Charleston. I wish we could all have an adventure together." At the mention of Bonnie's name, Scarlett swallowed the lump that automatically rose in the throat. She was suddenly reminded that tomorrow would have been Bonnie's fifth birthday, something she had been wanting to forget. She also remembered that, months ago, Carreen had organised a Mass in Bonnie's memory at the church of Our Lady for the morning, a couple of blocks from the Butlers' mansion. She needed to remember to attend, and to take her children with her.

"Oh Wade," she said, stroking the soft downy hair on his face. "Not everyone can just up and leave whenever they want. For one thing, I have the store to take care of and you...well you have school now. And you would miss Beau if we just went away. It's not really practical." Wade looked at her unconvinced. He jumped down from the plinth that held her bed and started walking to the door.

"Well, I can ask Uncle Rhett, can't I?" It was more a statement than a question and Scarlett didn't answer. He was half way to the doorway when he turned towards Scarlett again.

"Mother, Uncle Rhett said that he would take me after school to get a new saddle for my pony, so I won't be home straight away. He also said that maybe at the weekend he would buy me a horse. He said I was tall enough now for a horse rather than a pony." Scarlett sat bolt upright.

"When did you speak to Uncle Rhett, darling?" she said trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. Her heart began to race.

"Just before I came in here." So, that varmint was back after his depraved night! But she held her temper in check – she was not going to get jealous about his carryings on.

"Well, darling, you had better run along otherwise you will be late for school."

"Oh Mother," he said reaching into his pocket. "I almost forgot. Mammy asked me to give you this note." He ran back towards her and handed her the envelope before running out of the room. It was addressed to her but not in writing she recognised.

Curious, Scarlett reached for her paper knife that was on her bedside cabinet and slit the letter open. Her eyes scanned the card quickly and she could just make out Maybelle Picard's signature. What on earth could Maybelle be wanting from her now? More money? Scarlett sighed and then read the note more carefully. It seemed that news of her husband's re-emergence was already circulating amongst Atlanta's finest. No doubt India had detoured on her way home to tell Mrs Meade that Rhett had returned. And of course, Caroline Meade would have immediately informed Mrs Merriweather, who was Mrs Meade's twin in a pea pod, which made it easy to understand how Maybelle came to hear of the former blockade runner's return. Yes, she could just see how the train of gossip would have chugged through Atlanta all night.

Scarlett put the card down and slid under the bedclothes again. So Maybelle wanted to know if the Butlers wanted to attend the grand ball that the Ladies Memorial Association was organising at the Town Hall on Saturday night – in two days' time. Scarlett chuckled to herself at the irony! Rhett had been so curt to these people after Bonnie had died and yet, as soon as he was back in town, Atlanta's finest were swooning over him. Why hadn't she been asked to attend on her own, several weeks ago when the ball was first announced? Fanny Elsing had been asked to plenty of dances for various causes after her husband Tommy Welburn had made her a widow – it must be the difference between having a living husband and a dead husband, thought Scarlett. Maybe she wouldn't be quite the pariah if Rhett was actually dead.

She heard some heavy footsteps outside her door and then a knock. She knew it was Mammy. "Come in," she called out, still thinking about Maybelle's invitation.

"Mornin', Miss Scarlett. I dun bring you your breakfast." Mammy waddled in with the silver tray clutched firmly in her reliable hands, steam emitting from the coffee pot. She laid it down on Scarlett's bed.

"Mammy, is Captain Butler in his room?" she asked, trying not to look at her, but hoping she sounded indifferent. Mammy never missed a trick, even now, when her eye sight was not what it had been.

"Yes'm. Hiz ther. Just finishin' his breakfast. He goin' out soon tho'."

Mammy walked out and when Scarlett heard the door click shut, she put the tray to one side, threw back her covers and got out of bed. She felt excited about the ball and about Rhett accompanying her to it – but would he go to it, and with her? If Bonnie had been alive and he had cared about respectability, he would have gone but now...now she wasn't so sure. Certainly, their joint presence at it would help dispel the rumours that their marriage was broken but they hadn't been to a dance together in years; and they hadn't socialised with the Old Guard since that dreadful night of Ashley's party when everyone thought Scarlett had finally been caught out with her lover. She shuddered at the memory of that evening – awkward, humiliating and overpoweringly unfair.

She peered out of her window and saw that the cold, rainy mist from the day before had been swept away and the garden was now bathed in bright sunlight. It had never looked greener and she could see the flowers beginning to wake from their winter slumber and peek through the rich soil. She had personally overseen the garden during the last couple of months – and now enjoyed seeing the fruits of her labour.

She went to her closet and dug out her favourite wrapper - a green velvet one, which had pale cream brocade round the edges and fastened in a deep v-line along the contours of her breasts. For the second time in twenty-four hours she was going to wear colour. She put it on, deciding that both God and Melly would understand – in fact, she was pretty sure that Melly would be encouraging her to wear it. She then tied her ebony hair back but not too tightly so as to allow loose tendrils to fall around and frame her face and then she took her rouge and with one finger took a tiny swab from the pot and rubbed it into her cheeks. She looked at herself in her vanity and was surprised at how well she looked. And then with a deep breath, she walked out of her door and along the corridor to her husband's bedroom.

His door was slightly ajar and as she peered in she saw him standing by the long window that overlooked their garden, with a coffee cup in his hand. For someone who had almost certainly indulged in a large cocktail of women, whisky and other hedonistic pursuits last night, he looked surprisingly fresh. He was dressed in his usual garb – grey suit trousers, white shirt, waistcoat and a cravat – this time, a black and white checked one – not too dissimilar to the one he had worn when she had first met him at Twelve Oaks all those years ago. She had always taken his handsomeness for granted but as she surveyed him, she felt a rush of longing and suddenly she was not entirely sure if she would be strong enough to carry through her plan - to throw back in his face any advance he made towards her and then revel in his humiliation. Not that he had given any indication that he might still lust after her and she knew that he didn't love her so maybe her plan would never come to fruition. She took a step backwards and then knocked on his door.

"Yes?" she heard him call out. She pushed the door wider and stood in the doorway.

"Oh, it's you," he said casually as he returned to looking out onto the garden. He never made things easy for her and she stood uncertainly on the threshold of his room. She swallowed hard and she was no longer sure why she had voluntarily sought out his presence. Was she about to embarrass herself? But then she remembered his comments when he had left her six months' ago about how he wanted grace and beauty and longed for the old life. Maybe he would agree to go to the ball with her on Saturday.

She walked over to where he was standing and she cast her eyes in the direction of where he was looking. She saw the empty space between the hedges and trees where once the poles of Bonnie's jumping set would have stood. The former parents stood side by side, lost in their own separate thoughts. If only she could reach out to him and try and share his pain but she knew he would just flick her off, like a discarded pet and so she said nothing.

Finally, she cleared her throat, remembering why she had come here in the first place. "Rhett...I was wondering..." She paused, nervous now. She had been so certain a moment ago that he would say "yes" and now she had lost all confidence. "Actually, don't worry..."

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised in their usual sardonic manner. Oh, he could be so infuriating! How did he manage to rile her so quickly! She thought quickly of something to say, in order to regain some credibility.

"Wade told me you are going to take him out after school today to look at saddles and then on Saturday to maybe buy him a horse."

"Yes. I assume that is ok." He walked back over to his table and poured himself another coffee. He looked at his wife, who suddenly appeared very fragile and lost, standing in the vast room against the towering windows. "Do you care for a coffee?"

"No, thank you. I'll take breakfast later." She walked towards him, closing the distance between them. "Yes, of course it's fine. He's quite excited about it."

"Well, as his stepfather, I figure I have some sort of responsibility to ensure he manages the transition from boy to man."

And then, because she couldn't help herself and because the anger of his abandonment was never far from the surface, she said, "As his stepfather, it might be a good idea if you were around more frequently." If her words had any effect on him, Rhett didn't show it.

"A good point. But unfortunately, at the moment, to see him and to see Ella, I have to see you too." Scarlett visibly flinched and she felt hot tears immediately prick her eyes. But she bit her lip hard – she did not want them to fall in his presence. She wanted him to respect her.

"Rhett, you know if you want to see them without me, you could always ask. You are the only father they have ever known and they have lost so many people in their short lives that I would do anything to prevent them losing you." He looked at her and she saw his mouth form a slight smile – without the usual omnipresent malice or derision.

"Thank you, Scarlett. Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement? By the way,I think you made a good decision to send him to that school, Scarlett. I have always thought it would be better for him to make friends with his own sort, rather than the white trash you enjoy socialising with so much." Scarlett ignored the barb and instead focussed on the faint praise.

"I have tried to take on board some of your criticisms. I mean, you were right about quite a lot of things and over the last few months, I have tried to rectify some of them before it is too late."

"Like going to sewing circles and becoming friends with Maybelle?" he asked, his grin mocking her once again.

"I've always liked Maybelle," Scarlett said, with just a little bit too much protest in her voice, "I just didn't know how to break into that circle. But she's been very kind to me over the last few months what with Melly dying and you..." She didn't need to finish the sentence for him to get her meaning.

"How did you do it, Scarlett? Did you buy your way in?" She scowled at him. How did he still know her so well after all these months? Like Mammy, he too never missed a trick.

She had had enough of his meanness and was aware her stomach was beginning to rumble. "Well, anyway, I better go and eat my breakfast, before it gets cold and before Mammy scolds me." She turned her back on her husband and started walking towards the door.

"Scarlett." She hesitated before turning round to face him. What other insults was he going to throw in her direction? It was now her turn to raise her eyebrows.

"What did you really come in here for?"

Damn, she muttered under her breath. Could she get away with lying to him?

"We've already discussed it. Wade and his saddle. But I would like him back for supper, please." And with that she tossed her head, to maximum effect, drew her wrapper close around her and walked out of his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you everyone for all your kind reviews. Caroline – a special thank you for your encouragement. You won't get you want in this chapter but I think it is coming! Some criticism has been levied at me that Scarlett wouldn't turn into another Melly (especially in her relationship with her children) – I hadn't intended her to become another Melly at all so I have tried to rectify it here- but I do think that, even at the end of the book, she was softening. And I do think she would have made more of an effort with her children – even if only out of guilt. Also after Bonnie died, she actually wanted the respect and companionship of the Old Guard but because she seemingly recovered from Bonnie's death so quickly, they thought her heartless. I also read into India's pleadings with Dr Meade on Melly's deathbed that she (India) had got it wrong as between Scarlett and Ashley and she could see how Ashley really had loved Melly.**_

_**As before, none of the characters are mine – how I wish they were. They all belong to the amazing Margaret Mitchell! (How fabulous would it be to write a book that 75 years later, people are still discussing the ending!)**_

Chapter 4

By ten o'clock that morning, Scarlett was at the store. She didn't need to go but she wanted to get out of the house and away from Rhett. Their sporadic conversations since he had returned had been hurtful – with unnecessary terse remarks. When he had first left her, she had cried herself to sleep every night and willed him to return and tell her that it was all a mistake but as the months had passed and she had realised he was not going to return – or at least anytime soon – she had dusted off her sense of abandonment and calling on the same huge effort she had used when Bonnie had died, she started her life again.

"Good morning, Miss Scarlett," Hugh greeted, as she sashayed into the store. She had decided that, whilst she had not necessarily finished mourning, she was done with wearing black and had put on a practical pale blue dress, edged with black brocade, overlaid with a cream shawl and cape. Spring had been unseasonably cold.

"Good morning, Hugh," she replied, immediately walking past him and into the back office. "Did the deliveries arrive on time?" She was as business-like as ever and even the return of her errant husband would not derail her.

"Yes, ma'am. Two hours ago. They have already been unloaded." He followed her into the cramped office, where Scarlett spent many hours crawling over the books. The store was her haven and, since Rhett had tricked her into selling the mills to Ashley almost two years previously, provided her sole independent income. She often thought that she did not need the lavish allowance Rhett bestowed on her each month but since the black cloud that had hovered over her in those first three months after Melly's death had lifted, she had resolved to spend as much of his money as possible and leave her income untouched.

The morning dragged on. For want of nothing better to do, she decided to take a stock check but was continually interrupted by customers and as she was the better salesperson than Hugh she didn't delegate. By one o'clock she was famished and determined to return home for lunch. She hadn't quite expected she would need the break – her appetite had disappeared over recent months and she had been used to working until late afternoon with only some fruit as a snack.

She snapped the ledger shut and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her. She locked it and as she did so, she heard a familiar voice.

"Scarlett!" It was Maybelle. Scarlett grimaced. She knew she would ask her about the ball and as yet, she could not give her an answer.

"Hello Maybelle." Scarlett worked her winning smile on the small brunette who was walking towards her. Maybelle awkwardly kissed Scarlett on both cheeks – a first for Scarlett. Did Maybelle really consider her a friend these days? She was holding the hand of her youngest son, Napoleon, and dragging him across the cold, stone floor of the store. He had turned five a few weeks ago – the same age Bonnie would have been tomorrow.

"Did you get my note? I wasn't sure if it would reach you before you left for the day. I know how you like to get an early start at the store."

Scarlett started walking towards the store's exit. Maybelle turned back on herself and followed. "Yes, I did. Thank you." She knew Maybelle was expecting her to say more but she wasn't quite sure what to say. If she said that they would go and Rhett decided not to accompany her, her humiliation would be complete.

Maybelle looked puzzled. "So, do you think you will be able to come? I know it's late notice but I had hoped...I mean..." She cleared her throat from its nervous tic and when Scarlett looked at her, she bashfully averted her eyes towards her son. "I thought of inviting you on your own a few weeks ago but I wasn't sure if you would want to go to a dance without your husband but now that Captain Butler has returned, I figured...well...it would be perfectly lovely if you could both come." Scarlett smiled at Maybelle. She wasn't quite her sort but her heart was in the right place. Stalling to reply, Scarlett asked,

"Who else is on the table?"

"Well, Rene and me, Andy and Mary Bonnell, Fanny, Hugh and Jane, Ashley and India and Rene's cousin from Louisiana, Jack. He's in town for the week – in fact, he got in just last night." Scarlett considered the list in her head. She had nothing against any of them – in fact, she had never even met Jack – and they were certainly people that Rhett, in his respectable days, would have been keen to interact with. But that was when he had Bonnie's future to contend with.

And then, Scarlett took a gamble. She had two days to persuade Rhett to go to the ball and Scarlett O'Hara was not easily defeated. She turned to Maybelle and said, "We would be delighted to attend. How much are the tickets?"

Maybelle grinned and genuine friendliness flickered in her eyes. "Five dollars for each couple." Scarlett went over to the cash box that was behind the front desk, unlocked it and took out a crisp five dollar note. "Hugh," she called out. Hugh was hovering a few feet away observing the social intercourse between his mistress and his friend. "Can you please make a note that I have borrowed five dollars and remind me to return it tomorrow." Scarlett was a stickler for the books adding up. "It looks like Rhett and I will be accompanying you all to the ball on Saturday night." Hugh nodded, wondering how his wife would react to the news – Jane Elsing was one of Scarlett's most vehement opponents - and then he held the door open for Scarlett, Maybelle and Napoleon as they left Kennedys.

Scarlett's carriage was parked right outside. Maybelle stood aside whilst Scarlett put on her riding gloves and clambered up. Then Scarlett did something she had not done in a long time; she asked a member of the Old Guard if she cared for a ride home. Scarlett knew that the Picards only had one battered old cart and one horse and that Rene would have taken them to get to work.

"If you are sure you don't mind and it isn't too much out of your way," Maybelle said, thinking of her tired feet.

"Don't be silly. Besides, I am in no rush to get home." This was true, her hunger pangs had subsided. Scarlett helped Napoleon onto the seat and Maybelle joined him. Scarlett jerked the reins and the carriage started moving.

They sat in silence as they passed the bustle of the Atlanta streets. From a distance, Scarlett saw Mamie Bart and Sylvia Connington walking towards the National Hotel and silently prayed that they would be too absorbed in their gossip to see Scarlett. Ever since Bonnie had died, she had found their company, and that of the other pinchbeck ladies, tiresome. And when Melly had died and Rhett had left her, the latter which they only suspected, they tried to jostle Scarlett out of her melancholy without realising that Scarlett was hurting and wasn't ready or willing to let go of her melancholy. They had no understanding of, and had no care to understand, Scarlett's bond with that silly, mousey-haired Mrs Wilkes who had dressed in drab clothes and who was on the board of every depressing charitable organisation. When Scarlett's whist evenings and invitations to her crushes abruptly dried up, they dropped her just as quickly as they had taken up with her. Scarlett neither cared nor really noticed but seeing the duo walking down one of the main thoroughfares of Atlanta, with their already well-padded behinds made to look ridiculous with the garish bustles that draped over them, she was reminded that she hadn't spoken to them in a long time and certainly had no desire to speak to them today. Especially not with Maybelle in her carriage.

"Scarlett," Maybelle said, finally breaking the silence, "I wanted to properly apologise for what my mother said yesterday. She should never have said what she did. It is none of her business. She just gets carried away sometimes with Mrs Meade and they often put two and two together and come up with five."

"Really, don't worry," Scarlett said, keeping her eyes on the street and realising she was just about to pass her two former friends, "I've forgotten it already."

"Well, I know that some people give you a hard time but I try to remind people what a hard time you have had what with Melly and before that, Bonnie and then..." Scarlett stiffened – she did not need Maybelle fighting her battles. Then, because Maybelle had a habit of prattling on without always thinking, she added, "It would have been dear Bonnie's fifth birthday tomorrow, wouldn't it?" For some reason, everyone had always remembered Bonnie's birthday – perhaps because it had fallen on the last day of March and she had avoided being an April Fool's baby. She recalled the ridiculousness of Napoleon "hosting" her precious daughter's second birthday party three years earlier. Oh, her daughter would certainly have had more beaux than even Scarlett had had! If she had lived.

"Yes. It would have been." Scarlett said simply and for once, she didn't care that someone might see the tears in her eyes. Scarlett had shed many tears in her life to manipulate situations, usually involving men, but she had never genuinely cried in front of anyone other than Rhett, Melly and Mammy, the latter two, only when her parents and Bonnie had died. But she had a feeling that Maybelle would understand – after all, she too had buried a child just before Atlanta fell.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Maybelle said, looking at Scarlett. "I'm not sure you ever get over it, however hard you try."

Especially when the father of your child refuses to talk about it, Scarlett thought bitterly but then flinched at the memory of the vicious insults and accusations she had hurled at him in those dark days immediately after their child's death.

"Actually, I've got to go to Mass tomorrow." Scarlett said. The Picards were one of the few Catholic families in Atlanta. "My sister Carreen arranged for a Mass to be said in Bonnie's memory."

"Well, that might help," Maybelle offered. Scarlett doubted it but didn't bother to correct her. Religion had offered her little comfort over the years and had only served to frighten her.

"Maybe," Scarlett said. She jerked the reins left to turn into Pleasant Street and pulled up outside Maybelle's house. Maybelle got out and reached up to take her son.

"Thank you, Scarlett. I'll see you on Saturday."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Scarlett got home, she found the house empty, save for Mammy and Dilcey. Pork was running errands for Rhett, the governess had taken Ella out for a walk and the other servants were in their quarters.

"Miss Scarlett," Mammy said as she helped Scarlett out of her cloak and shawl, "Dilcey dun make yo lunch."

"I'm not hungry, Mammy," Scarlett said.

"Now, Miss Scarlett, Ah's tole yo, yo mus eat. Ah ain gwine see ma lamb git any thinner."

"I'll eat later, Mammy. I'm feeling tired and want to take a nap. I've got a headache." Mammy followed her up the stairs.

"Well, Miss Scarlett, Ah's mak yo eat sumpin later." Scarlett didn't bother arguing and let Mammy help her out of her dress so that she could go to bed.

When Scarlett awoke three hours later, her headache had gone and she felt refreshed. She could hear Wade laughing and Ella's high pitched and irritating screeching. Rhett must be with them, she thought. That was the only possible explanation for such gaiety.

She rang for Mammy and ignored Mammy's raised eyebrows as she helped Scarlett in to her new pale mint dress. Scarlett needed some sort of assistance if she was going to persuade Rhett to go to the ball with her and a pretty dress was as good as any. Rhett might not love her any more but he was a man and...she stopped herself and felt the colour rise to her cheeks. What was she trying to do here? She certainly didn't want him to put her in the same category as that Watling woman but if not, then what was her plan?

When she was dressed, she pumped her scent bottle lightly over her hair – Rhett had always loved how her hair had smelled – and she walked down the hallway to the nursery. The three of them were in there – Rhett had Ella on his lap and was reading her a story whilst intermittently breaking off so that he could move his pieces in a game of chequers against Wade. They all looked up at her.

"Mother, you look pretty," Ella said and then looked back at the book.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Butler," Rhett drawled. He looked coolly and directly at her but then she felt his eyes rake over her as though he was noticing her for the first time. She held his stare for a few seconds, trying to read him, and then turned to her son.

"Did you get the saddle, Wade?" Scarlett asked.

"Yes we did. A shiny black one. I've put it in the stables already."

"Hmmm. Well, maybe we can go riding tomorrow together. I'm not going to the store tomorrow and you're not going to school either." Wade slowly nodded in agreement, even though he wanted to go to school. But he knew it was his dead sister's birthday and he knew that he had better not upset his mother.

Ella, her concentration now broken, jumped down from her stepfather's lap and went over to her dolls' house. Unlike Wade, she was too silly to notice the growing tension between her parents. Rhett was still looking at her but now his expression was smooth and bland and there was no possibility of misinterpretation.

"And what else have you got planned tomorrow, Mrs Butler?" he asked. She felt like telling him that it was none of his business. Yet, as she still had to extract a promise from him that he would attend the ball with her on Saturday, she held her tongue and told him an abbreviated version of the truth.

"Well, I'm going to Mass in the morning and then I have no plans."

"Sewing circles and now church? My you have changed." She knew he knew the real reason for her attendance at Mass tomorrow and she hated him for mocking her.

"Not so very much," she said, quietly. "Besides, you might be forced to change if your two best friends left you." He looked at her with an expression that she couldn't quite ascertain but the mockery in his eyes had vanished. "Well, are you having dinner with us tonight?"

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed?"

"I am the head of the house so I might as well take my place at the head of the table." His response was so incredulous that Scarlett couldn't help but let out a snort of derision.

"Head of the house? Only when it suits you, though." She turned before she could see Wade's face crumple up in pain at the insults that the adults were firing at each other. "I'll see you at dinner, then."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner passed peaceably with Wade and Rhett engaging in most of the talking and discussing the horse that they might buy on Saturday. Scarlett pushed her food round her plate and then asked Mammy to put Ella to bed. Feeling the frostiness between his parents, Wade asked to be excused soon after, leaving Scarlett properly alone with Rhett for the first time. They sat in silence whilst he lit a cigar and poured each of them a whisky. He slid her glass across the expansive mahogany table and Scarlett took it. She had cut back on her drinking in the months after Rhett's departure but tonight, she needed extra fortitude.

"Rhett?" Her husband looked at her and tapped the ash from his cigar onto a plate. "The Ladies Memorial Association are trying to raise the last bit of money for a memorial at the Oakland Cemetery. "

"And?" he scoffed. "You certainly don't need my permission to donate money."

"No..." she said, hesitatingly. "No I don't. But they're not asking for money as such they're hosting a ball. And I would like to go and I would like you to accompany me." There she had said it!

"Indeed?" he said and looked at her with his black, taunting eyes. "And, pray tell, why should I do that?" Scarlett felt her temper rise.

"Because...because you are my husband."

"How lame! I'm only your husband because you won't divorce me." God's nightgown! This man was so hateful! He took a swig of his whisky and then reached for the decanter again and poured himself another measure.

Scarlett's eyes flashed with steely determination. She wasn't going to give in just yet. "It's the least you can do. Everyone will be there and I...well, I want to go too. And it would look mighty odd if you didn't go with me. You owe it to me Rhett. You abandon me _and_ the children. I don't hear from you for months and then you just turn up with no explanation or warning."

"I did what I promised, Scarlett. I told you I would come back from time to time. Although I am beginning to regret making that promise," he fired back at her.

"I'm not quite sure why you even bothered to make it. You've never even _cared_ about gossip or reputation." He sighed and inhaled his cigar. Then he looked at her straight and blankly.

"I made it because I felt sorry for you and because, strangely, I felt...feel... some sort of responsibility towards you...and the children." Scarlett laughed and tossed her head back.

"That's rich! Responsibility? I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself and my family, thank you very much. I had the burden of the whole extended O'Hara family on my shoulders for years and I was perfectly able to take care of them." That wasn't quite true, she thought quickly, as she remembered how she had had to prostitute herself to keep a roof over their heads.

He ignored her protestations and continued. "I feel responsible because I got you into this whole sorry and miserable mess. A mess that I'm not sure how we can get out of. I should never have married you. It was probably the single and biggest mistake of my life." If he had fired a bullet straight to her heart, it would not have hurt so much. How could he say marrying her had been a mistake? Hadn't they had _some_ happy times? And there would have been no Bonnie. If Scarlett hadn't been the love of his life, their daughter certainly had been.

"No," Scarlett said, her lip quivering. "The biggest mistake you ever made was never telling me you loved me. For the dashing renegade that you profess to be, you are one of the biggest cowards I have ever met." She got up from her chair and drained her glass. The whisky burnt her throat but she was already numb from Rhett's words. At that moment, she hated him passionately, more so than she could ever remember. "I'm not sure I want you even under the same roof as me anymore. You can't even be civil. You're just nasty and cruel. Why don't you just spend days _and_ nights with that blousy red-head whilst you go about your Atlanta business. You still have her key, don't you?" Rhett dragged his chair back, stood up and went over to his wife. He locked eyes with her, silently challenging her to continue her tirade. His large, muscular body completely dwarfed hers and he was so close to her she could feel his breath on her neck. Finally, he moved away, back towards the whisky decanter.

"I'll go with you," he said, smooth as ever. "Maybe it'll be fun to catch up with some old friends."

"Forget it! I don't want to feel I owe you anything. It was a stupid idea of mine and quite frankly, I think I'd rather go on my own."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers – you make my day, you really do. An extra special thank you to Darth Ripley and Caroline for giving me the confidence to carry on with my interpretation of Scarlett and also to Sunnyrae for her insightful comments . All comments are genuinely welcome – good and bad. That is the only way to learn!**_

_**Sorry if this chapter is a bit slow – however, I feel that what happens in this chapter needs to be told. I have almost finished Chapter 6 but I am trying to avoid clichés.**_

_**As usual, none of the characters are mine and I am indebted to the wondrous Ms Mitchell.**_

Chapter 5

Scarlett spent the rest of the evening straining to hear Rhett's movements. She had left him in the dining room and retired to her bedroom and shortly afterwards she heard him leave the house - no doubt to spend another debauched night at the Watling establishment. He was obsessed with that woman.

Her mind was racing and she struggled to get to sleep. Was marrying her really his biggest regret? She tried not to think about it – she didn't want to think about it tonight or tomorrow - but his words kept on re-entering her mind and were not easily put aside. She had made many mistakes in her life, although only a handful that she really regretted but she knew _her_ biggest mistake was being so headstrong in her supposed love for Ashley and not seeing him for who he really was. And that mistake had manifested itself twofold - being too blind to see Rhett's love and not appreciating and loving Melly until it was far too late. Melly – if only she was still here! She wondered what Melly would have made of the situation. Somehow, though, she felt that she would have known what to do about it all. Rhett had been right about one thing – it was asorry and miserable mess.

After a restless night, she awoke early. The sun was still low in the sky and she reckoned it was no later than five o'clock. She put an old wrapper on, over her cream, silk nightgown, and some house shoes and went downstairs into the kitchen. None of the household was up yet. She lit a fire, shook the copper kettle to check it had water in it and then put it on the stove. Her mind wandered back to those days at Tara, after Sherman had shelled and raped Atlanta, when she would often spend her early mornings in the kitchen with her faithful servants and her Pa, planning the day and allocating the food. She remembered finding those mornings strangely comforting, despite the strain of running the house and the worry of going hungry. She realised now she had drawn comfort from those hours because she had spent them in the bosom of her family. It was the people at Tara that gave her strength just as much as its abundant red soil.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her body. She was feeling slightly nauseous - which she put down to anticipation of the day ahead - and hunted round for something to eat. She found some bread and tore a hunk off it. She then sat down on one of the wooden chairs that surrounded the large marble table in the kitchen and waited for the kettle to whistle.

Suddenly, there was a rattling of the door in the far corner of the room. It was only a little after five o'clock and her heart started pounding. Who on earth was it? No one else would likely be up for at least another hour and Dilcey and the other servants came into the kitchen through the underground passage that linked the servants' quarters with the main house. She spied a knife, grabbed it and then stood up to face the intruder. She heard a cough and then a large dark shadow appeared. It was Rhett.

"Great balls of fire!" she said, relaxing her grip on the knife and putting it down. He looked as surprised to see her as she was him. He was dressed in his clothes from the night before, absent his cravat. The top buttons of his shirt were undone to reveal the wiry black hairs on his chest. "Why don't you come in through the front door like any civilised gentleman? You scared me half to death."

He walked towards her and she could smell the blend of alcohol, stale cigar smoke and cheap, tawdry perfume. Instinctively, she crinkled up her nose in disgust.

"I can't win, can I?" he smirked. "I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I was so conspicuous and walked home off the main street." He threw his jacket over a chair and took a glass from a shelf. He then poured himself some water from the metal water pitcher that was on the side. "What are you doing in here, anyway? I didn't have you down as a skivvy. I can just about understand why you might want to atone for your sins by going to sewing meetings and Mass," he jibed, "But I would have thought housework was taking it all a little too far. No one would see you, my dear."

Her brilliant emerald eyes narrowed in anger. "It's too early to expect Minnie or Dilcey to be up and I wanted a cup of tea," she replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "So you've been out all night, then?"

"Well, not exactly." He swayed ever so slightly. Was he drunk? "It depends what you mean by _out_." Oh, he was despicable! "I took your advice, my dear, and decided to spend the rest of the evening and night at..."

"I really don't need or want to hear it, Rhett," she said quickly. He chuckled softly in that familiar manner that had always so irked Scarlett. How had she ended up married to such a deviant? The kettle started whistling and she got up and walked towards the stove. She poured the steaming water on some tea leaves. Her back was turned to him but she didn't need to see him to know that he was looking at her with mild amusement. "I'd appreciate it if you could bathe before you see the children and before Mammy or any the servants see you. I'm not sure what your plans are today but if you intend to spend any time..."

"Scarlett!" She stopped and turned round. He had crept to within inches of her. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and he must have detected an element of fear in her poise for he backed away. "Give me some credit. I'm a cad but I do think I know how to behave around children. And Mammy."

"Do you? Well, why don't you show it? Sneaking off to your fancy woman at every opportunity..."

"Good God woman! Leave it," he said, raising his voice. She noticed he didn't deny it. "Did you ever hear me complain of you taking every opportunity to meet up with the esteemed Ashley Wilkes whenever you could?" So he was going to drag Ashley into it, was he?

"That was completely different! I had a business relationship with him..."

"And I have a business relationship with Belle!"

She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows sarcastically. "Hmmm. Amongst other things." She took her seat at the table again. "For someone who likes the finer things in life, you have extremely poor taste when it comes to who shares your bed!"

"Don't give yourself airs, Scarlett," he warned, with an inflection of rising anger.

"At least I don't debase myself in front of my children," she hissed.

He lent across the marble slab to where she was sitting and grabbed her wrist sharply, hurting her. "No, it seems you don't anymore! God, what I wouldn't do to you if it weren't illegal," he threatened. His eyes were blazing and his teeth glistened despite the gloomy light. He was so close to her that she felt that if she were a small bird he would swallow her up. He stood still, towering over her small frame, his eyes dancing with malice and because she didn't know what else to do and because at that moment she hated him, she slapped him hard right across his cheek.

"Aah," he said, taking a step back. His hand released her from its strong grasp and automatically went to where she had hit him. She could see a slight prick of blood on his dark skin, where her heavy engagement ring had caught him.

"You gave up the right to touch me six months' ago, Captain Butler," she said, her voice shaking with rage.

"Touché," he said quietly and his anger had dissipated. "I had forgotten what a mean right hook you have, my dear. It's been quite a while since I last felt your physical wrath." He slumped down on the chair across from her, taking up an almost carnal position.

"Rhett." She looked straight at him, hoping she could convey the sincerity she felt. "I want to get through today and then tomorrow I want us to sit down together and work out how to best manage our... situation. I'm not sure I can go on much longer with how things are. Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement." As she spoke, she was trying to think of what the arrangement might be. She didn't want a divorce, she hated the idea of being divorced, her life would be over if she was divorced but...maybe there was a compromise. Anything was better than having to deal with a man who blatantly no longer neither loved her nor respected her. She was exhausted and he had only been home thirty six hours! Any hopes that she might miraculously end up in his arms were fast fading (not that she had really wanted that, she reminded herself) and she felt that her new and fragile rapprochement with her old friends was in jeopardy as a result of his goading behaviour. A sudden thought went through her mind. Was he doing all this deliberately, trying to beat her down and manipulate the situation to achieve his desired result? Was this what he had been planning all along? Was that why he was back? He had certainly suggested a divorce or at least a formal separation on a number of occasions.

She squared her shoulders and stood up to her full height. "I'm going to take a bath. Then the children and I are going to go to church." She didn't say anything further and instead poured herself a cup of black tea and added a slice of lemon to it. She then made her way out of the kitchen, through the hallway and up the stairs, silently lamenting her husband's return and lamenting the way he could still hurt her. As she walked to the sanctuary of her bedroom, she remembered his parting words to her, on that dreadful night of Melanie's death when he had talked of an odd feeling of kindness towards her. That feeling in him had obviously died too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett had her bath and soaked so long in the lavender scented water that it was cold by the time she got out. Mammy helped her wash her hair and then she sat by the fire, drying it off. She then put on a pale grey silk dress, overlaid with a dark grey taffeta jacket that did up with mother of pearl buttons. For once, she was sensitive to overdressing or wearing anything garish. She wasn't going to a wake but she wanted to be respectful to her daughter. When she was ready, she went into Wade's room. Ella was with him and she had in her hand a piece of paper.

"Come on both of you. We'll be late," Scarlett said impatiently. Wade started shuffling towards the door but Ella stood still. Scarlett marched over to where Ella was standing and when the little girl still didn't move, Scarlett grabbed her hand and started dragging her out of the room. "Will you put that paper down please, Ella."

Ella looked confusedly at Scarlett.

"Ella," Scarlett said, her voice containing an unveiled threat. "I've already asked you once." The child still didn't do anything but her bottom lip started quivering.

"Mother..." Wade said.

"Yes, Wade," Scarlett snapped. Why couldn't the boy ever finish a sentence?

"I think Ella wanted to take the paper with her to church. It's for Bonnie." Scarlett looked down at the paper that was flailing in her daughter's hand. It was a birthday card that Ella had made and upon which she had attempted to draw horses and kittens surrounded by angels and stars. She immediately regretted her waspish remarks and bent down to kiss the top of her daughter's gingery head. I have to remember that they loved their baby sister too, she thought.

"Let me see," she said, gesturing to Ella. She studied it and then said, with a softer voice than a few moments before, "That's lovely, darling. She will love it." Ella smiled and took Scarlett's outreached hand and they walked down the plush, carpeted stairs towards the front door, with Wade padding behind them. As they reached the bottom step, Mammy came out of the parlour, her demeanour heavy with sadness.

"Miss Scarlett. Ahs wan you to put a candle in de church fer Miss Bonnie." The old, plump stalwart of the O'Hara family pressed a coin in Scarlett's hand. Scarlett took it, put it in her black purse and then kissed her affectionately on the cheek .

"Thank you, Mammy. I'll put a candle up for Bonnie, for you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only a few other people in the church which didn't surprise Scarlett. After all it was a weekday Mass. Father O'Sullivan greeted Scarlett and the children warmly and led them to the front pew. She hadn't been in the church since Christmas but he didn't chastise her. She knelt down on the thick velvet kneeler, because she knew that was what Father would expect of her, and closed her eyes. She didn't pray exactly – instead, she thought of Bonnie. Sweet, innocent Bonnie who had been the sticking plaster to her parents' marriage and the one subject that she and Rhett had agreed on – until the very end. She hated thinking about those dark hours that had followed her death when everyone, even the servants, had been at sea and so she blocked those thoughts from her mind with the same determination and fortitude she had used to get through the last horrible year. Had it really been only five years ago that she had given birth to her? It seemed another lifetime ago.

The short Mass was conducted, the family's candles lit and before she knew it, she was helping Ella and Wade into the carriage. Pork had waited for them outside the church, on the corner of Juniper Street and North Avenue, and as he had sat there, Uncle Peter and Aunt Pitty had gone past. Recognising the Butler carriage, Aunt Pitty had asked Uncle Peter to stop and then instructed Pork to drive her niece-by-marriage and children to her house after the service and she would have an early lunch waiting for them. "On a day like today, Scarlett needs to be with family," she explained to Pork. "I would have gone to church with her if I had known she was going for Bonnie. That dear little thing."

So Scarlett came out of the Church of Our Lady and discovered she was going to Aunt Pitty's, which was the last thing she wanted to do but as she had no real choice, she didn't say anything and instead, sat in silence as the carriage rattled along the cobbled streets, her children flanking her on either side.

Thankfully, Aunt Pitty was alone. "India and Honey have gone calling on Miss Fanny and Mrs Elsing," Aunt Pitty explained, "And, John has got some business meetings in town." Scarlett nodded, relieved that she didn't have to engage in polite conversation with Ashley's sisters. Honey had an inordinately long memory and, despite marrying someone else years' ago, appeared never to have forgiven Scarlett for marrying Charlie.

They had lunch and Pitty chattered on inanely, increasingly grating on Scarlett's nerves. "What a delight it was to see you and Captain Butler on Wednesday evening, my dear," she said, sipping some coffee. "He looked so well, didn't he?" Pitty had always had a soft spot for her nephew's step-father, even though she found herself frequently frightened by his masculinity and size.

"Yes. I suppose he did look well," Scarlett agreed, reluctantly, trying to draw the subject to a prompt close.

"I'm surprised he wasn't with you today," Pitty continued, mopping her brow with her napkin and blind to Scarlett's increasing awkwardness.

"Hmmm," Scarlett murmured and then added, "He's never had much time for Catholicism, Auntie." Pitty nodded but they both knew that he had accompanied his wife to Mass on the few occasions she had graced a church in the early years of their marriage.

Pitty took Scarlett's hand in hers and then did something utterly unexpected. "Dear Scarlett, why don't you leave the children with me for the rest of the day. India and Honey will be back soon and Beau will be home from school before too long. You and Captain Butler probably need some time alone. It must be difficult for you." Scarlett looked at the eccentric old maid and smiled. She didn't particularly like the thought of leaving her own flesh and blood exposed to Honey's potentially bitter recriminations, without her to protect them or there to defend herself, but India seemed harmless enough these days and Wade had always been fond of his great-aunt. In any event, Aunt Pitty was right; she did need some time alone, even if it meant breaking her promise to her son to go riding with him.

"If you are sure Auntie. It's been a long day already and we aren't even half way through it."


	6. Chapter 6

_**To all my readers. This is for you. I hope you enjoy. Mrs Mitchell and the Stephen Mitchell estate – these characters all belong to you and I don't own any of them.**_

_**Reviewers - things aren't always what they seem.**_

Chapter 6

Despite her protestations, Uncle Peter drove Scarlett to the cemetery. She had wanted to walk but he had insisted and Scarlett, too jaded to object had accepted the ride. "Pork tole me, Miss Scarlett, ter look after you t'day and dat is whut Ahs do." However, she won the argument about the ride home. "I'll be fine Uncle Peter. Really. Some fresh air will do me good." He looked at her and shook his head.

"Miss Scarlett, you is as bad as Miss Honey. An' gwine outside wid no shawl on. You gwine catch a chill."

"Now, Uncle Peter, don't fuss. The sun is coming out and it's getting warmer. I'll be too hot with a shawl on. I won't stay long anyway but I could do with some exercise. Please go back home. Aunt Pitty might need you." She got out of the carriage and made her way through the cemetery. She hadn't intended to go to the cemetery at the beginning of the day but, as she had sat at Aunt Pitty's, listening to her banter with the children, she had thought that it might offer her some comfort.

She passed Melly's grave first. A simple cross poked out of the ground, marking where she lay and a bunch of virginal white lilies lay nearby – as perfect as she had been. A flood of guilt washed over Scarlett as she thought of her own wrongful behaviour towards Melly. Well, there's nothing I can do about it now, she thought wistfully, I can't even do anything about it tomorrow – it's all too late. She thought of her promises to Melly – to look after Beau and Ashley. And then she thought of the third promise she had made - to be kind to Captain Butler - but surely that was only dependent on him still loving her? She inwardly flinched as she recalled the harsh remarks that they had fired at each other earlier in the day and wondered if there would ever be a ceasefire between them. Then instinctively she stooped to kiss the cross, said a quick prayer and moved on.

When she got to Bonnie's grave, she realised someone had been before her. It was covered in hundreds of blue campanulae and wild forget-me-nots. She stood stock still for a few minutes taking in the beauty of the scene and after she had offered up a silent Hail Mary, she bent down to pull up some weeds that had begun to grow around the edges of the plot. Then she took out Ella's card from her purse and leaned it against the weather-beaten wooden cross which was engraved with the dates of her daughter's birth and death – like Melly's, the ground around Bonnie's grave was still too newly broken to hold a formal gravestone. "Happy birthday, my precious darling," she whispered.

Lost in her own thoughts, she started to wander through the cemetery, pausing occasionally to look at the gravestones that told their own history. There were a few names she recognised but not many. Most of the Atlanta men who had fought in the war had been buried close to the battlefields where they had lost their lives. She walked past Tommy Welbeck's headstone – Fanny Elsing's husband. She cringed, thinking of her own role in Tommy's death.

Then, she walked over to Frank's grave. She hadn't been there since she had buried him. She hadn't even taken Ella there. She had intended to come on the first anniversary of his death but her wedding to Rhett had been only days away and the idea had slipped her mind. Good God, she had been awful to him. It was a period in her life that she was not proud of and didn't particularly like to think of, although Ella obviously acted as a constant reminder. His grave was overgrown and to assuage her guilt she dropped to her knees and started plucking the grasses and weeds from the ground, so that at least his headstone was no longer obscured.

Scarlett left the cemetery and meandered home. She was in no mood for social intercourse and so took the side streets, figuring that she was unlikely to meet anyone that she would have to speak to. When she finally turned into Peachtree Street and could see her house, majestic on top of the hill, it was almost dusk. She had been out for hours and she wondered if her children were home yet. She hoped not – she wasn't sure if she had the patience to deal with them this evening.

Mammy opened the door. "Miss Scarlett, where has you bin? Ahs ben worried 'bout yo'. An' jes' look at yo'! Yo's look lak a tramp. Yer all dirty an yer har..."

"Yes, yes," Scarlett said impatiently, suddenly feeling the chill from outside and wanting to get into the warmth of the house. "I know." She kicked off her shoes and rubbed the blisters on her feet.

"Ahs gwine giv' yer anuther baf. Yo's come upstairs wid Mammy." She followed obediently and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had worked itself loose from its chignon and she had a slight dusting of mud on her face. She looked down at her dress that was now ruined from grass strains but she didn't care. It was only a dress and not one of her favourites.

After she had had her bath, she lay on her bed, looking at a book of lithographs of Paris. She heard the children come home and then, a short while later, Mammy putting them to bed. She closed her eyes and dozed for a while and when she awoke again, the house was silent. It was nearly midnight and Bonnie's birthday was almost over.

She didn't feel tired any more but craved a drink. She got out of bed, grabbed a wrapper and in bare feet, walked into the hallway. She intended to go downstairs to pour herself a brandy but something pulled her towards Bonnie's bedroom. She tiptoed along the corridor, past Rhett's room and reached Bonnie's door. She hesitated before twisting the door knob. She had not been into the room since the day of Bonnie's funeral and, for the last eight months, she had avoided even walking past it.

She tentatively pushed the door open, apprehensive as to what she would find, and walked in. She looked around, the flickering candles in the hallway emitting sufficient light. On first blush, the room was exactly as she had remembered it – Bonnie's rocking horse, with real horse hair, taking pride of place in the middle of the room, her books stacked neatly to one side on two of her shelves, her little pink house slippers laid out by the window, her four storey high doll's house in one corner. I should really let Ella play with that, she thought but then quickly dismissed the idea. She wasn't quite ready to disturb the room. Maybe in a few more months.

One of the candles in the hallway died out and so, to benefit from the moonlight, Scarlett went over to the cornflower blue curtains that hung over the windows and drew them back. A light smattering of dust fell on her head but she didn't try to shake it off. Maybe it's angel dust, she thought and then silently laughed at her own sentimentality.

She went over to Bonnie's bed – a bed that she hadn't slept in for the last two years of her short life but upon which was her favourite doll – a doll, that Bonnie had named Ruby on account of her scarlet velvet dress, and one that she and Rhett had bought her for her first Christmas. The doll had been almost as big as her when she had got it and, after being discarded in a pile of other toys, one spring day when she had just turned three it had, almost overnight, become one of her most treasured possessions. Scarlett smiled as she remembered the elaborate tea parties Bonnie would host for Ruby, inviting Ella's dolls too. So many times she had spied Bonnie setting up the tea set for yet another birthday celebration – how many parties did a doll need to go to in a year? She picked the doll up and noticed how worn and dirty the dress was now – there were a couple of moth holes in the back of the dress. I should get Dilcey to sew them up, Scarlett mused. The doll's face had the beginnings of wear – probably from Bonnie kissing it too much. As she laid the doll back on the bed, the arm fell off and she remembered a fight that her two daughters had had over the doll and Ruby getting torn. Rhett had promised to take it to the "dolls' hospital" but then Bonnie had died and there had been no need.

Suddenly, Scarlett sensed she was being watched but when she turned round, no one was there. I must have imagined it, she thought, but she wasn't entirely convinced. She picked up the doll again and, deciding that she did need that drink after all, she went out of the room, closed the door behind her and walked back along the hallway to the staircase. She went past Rhett's room and noticed that the door was ajar. She could have sworn that the door had been closed when she had walked past it a few minutes before but now she couldn't be sure. Was he home? She hadn't seen him since their morning altercation and hadn't heard him either.

She went down to the dining room, took a glass from the side cabinet and poured herself a large brandy. She thought she heard some footsteps above her and, fearing that Rhett might indeed be in the house, she quickly returned to her bedroom. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand any more cruelty he threw in her direction.

Her room was warm from the smouldering embers in the fireplace and feeling in need of some cooler air, she unlocked the French doors of her bedroom that led on to the balcony that ran along the full length of the house and walked out. She leaned over the balcony, sipping her brandy, and allowed herself to wallow in her own memories of her darling daughter. Then she heard the muffled sound of the old grandfather clock in the hallway strike twelve. It was no longer Bonnie's birthday.

"Mrs Butler," a voice cooed softly. Startled, she looked around and saw Rhett walking towards her. He was dressed in dark grey gabardine wool trousers and a white shirt and whilst it was undone at the top, he didn't look the dishevelled mess he had presented over nineteen hours earlier. He stopped close to her but without invading her personal space. She couldn't smell any liquor on him, only cigar smoke, which she had always found vaguely comforting.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Scarlett said. She couldn't gauge what mood he was in and so decided to be banal.

"You've been out all day," he said simply. She allowed her eyes to wander slowly to his face and for once she didn't see his sardonic veneer.

"Yes...I...well, I went to church and then Aunt Pitty unexpectedly invited us to lunch. So we went to lunch. I got back late afternoon and fell asleep and I have only just woken up again." He leaned over the balcony and moved a couple of inches towards her. They stood side by side for several seconds before Scarlett broke the silence. "What did you do today?" Scarlett asked softly.

"Oh, this and that," he said, without looking at her.

"You went to her grave, didn't you?" Scarlett said.

He still didn't look at his wife. "Yes. Yes I did."

"I wasn't sure what to do today, really. I didn't have the energy to go riding with Wade," Scarlett offered.

"But you went too. To the grave I mean."

"Yes I did," she said, echoing the simplicity of his tone. "I liked the flowers you left for her. She would have loved them – all those blues." She had subconsciously known all along that it must have been him. He had probably left Melly's too. "It looked beautiful. As beautiful as she was." Scarlett felt her eyes fill up and a throbbing rise in her throat. She swallowed hard but she couldn't do anything to stop a big, fat tear roll down her cheek. She looked across at her husband and saw that his eyes were pricked with tears too but they weren't falling. Not yet.

"I can't believe she would have been five today," he said, still staring straight ahead.

"I know," Scarlett choked. "I was thinking earlier how she would have left us all exhausted if we had been celebrating with her today." And there would have still been some sort of _we _and _us_, thought Scarlett, even if it had only been a fractured _we _and _us_.

"I can remember when I first saw her, first held her. God she was special. I fell in love with her at first sight." And you never fell out of love with her, because she reciprocated your love, Scarlett added silently.

"She was the best of us," Scarlett whispered. "Well, the best of me." She felt another tear slide down her cheek and was thankful for the dim light.

"She certainly had your stubbornness," Rhett said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "I could never quite work out whether that was a blessing or a curse. For either of you." Scarlett smiled faintly.

"Probably both." He looked at her, properly, for the first time in the evening and Scarlett thought she saw his eyes flicker with something, something she had seen before but had never been able to understand. "Rhett, I..." she paused. What she wanted to say would undoubtedly open old wounds and she hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Well, I never meant what I said when Bonnie died." He looked at her quizzically. "To you, I mean. It was no one's fault." She had wanted to make that confession almost from the very day that she had levied her vicious accusations at him. He was facing her now and took a step forward, bridging the gap between them.

"I know, Scarlett," he said, his usual jeering mask, temporarily down. She could feel the tears streaming down her face and he reached out and touched them. "Grief causes strange reactions and people say the damndest things."

"Was it Bonnie's birthday that made you come back, Rhett?" She knew the answer even before he nodded slowly. That was why he had so dramatically returned, she now realised, because he wanted to be close to their daughter. On her birthday. Not a day that either of them could easily forget.

"It doesn't change anything though, my darling." Her senses pricked up at the use of the term of endearment but she knew he didn't mean anything by it. He had always used terms of endearments with her so casually. "I'll be on my way again soon."

"I know that, Rhett." She drew her wrapper closely round her as a slight breeze rippled through the night air. After another silence, Scarlett felt an awkwardness rising between them. "Well, I'm going to go in now. I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." She turned but, as she did so, Rhett caught her arm. His grip wasn't hard but it was insistent.

"Don't go...not just yet." And then he completely closed any space between them as he pulled her towards him. She felt his strong, lithe body before she felt his lips and then he was kissing her under the moonlight and she was putting her arms around him and pressing against him, thinking if she pressed hard enough, he might just about be able to take away her grief and make her feel whole again. She felt his wet cheeks nuzzling her neck and his arms go round her waist. He held her increasingly tightly, as though she was the one thing that might prevent him falling down the precipice that he was standing precariously on the edge of. And then she was kissing him back with the same urgency he was kissing her with, desperate, hungry kisses. She felt she was floating on one of the clouds that had obscured some of the stars in the night sky and didn't really notice when he picked her up in his arms and carried her into her bedroom. He was kissing her on her lips, in her hair, on her breasts and then he disentangled her from her wrapper, from her nightgown and lifted her on her bed. And as he did so, she forgot about hurting him or getting hurt and all that mattered was lifting her pliant body to meet his.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you once again to all who have been reading this – and especially to my reviewers, including Caroline, Darth Ripley, Sunnyray and Iambbq. All comments – including the bad ones are welcome!_

_Of course Ms Mitchell owns the rights in all these fabulous characters. No breach of copyright is intended._

Chapter 7

Scarlett awoke to an all enveloping but peaceful darkness, only lightened by the soft shimmer of the moon that was still a high, solitary figure in the sky. Morning was still several hours away.

She felt a cool breeze ripple over her face and welcomed it, thankful that the door to the balcony had been left ajar.

She turned slowly towards her sleeping husband, whose arm was draped over her naked hip and then she looked at her nightgown and wrapper that lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and beside them, his pants and shirt and everything came flooding back. She didn't need to feel the stickiness between her legs to remember what had transpired.

She wasn't entirely sure how it had happened – it had all been so unexpected and she was definitely caught off guard. And, as she thought about it, she reckoned he had too. She remembered the overpowering sadness that had followed her throughout the whole of yesterday and how Rhett's melancholy had seemingly matched her own. She remembered allowing some of her stored up tears to fall, offering her a moment's relief from the agony she had carried for months, an agony she knew was surpassed by Rhett's own. She remembered him removing her clothes with an urgency that she had only seen once before but teamed with a tenderness that she couldn't ever recall. She remembered looking into the eyes of a proud but broken man and wishing acutely she could do something to take away his pain. She remembered her own sudden need to feel something physical, anything, to pierce the numbness that had acted like a cocoon round her for the last eight months. And she remembered crying softly in his arms afterwards, when they both lay spent and him wrapping her long, ebony hair round his throat and her wondering if it was the moisture from his tears that made her hair damp or the sweat from their exertions.

There had been no declarations of love from either of them and all she had wanted, needed and received was his physical touch and a sense of being alive again. And she had taken pleasure in it, revelled in it even. But she knew it had meant nothing to him and strangely she did not mind.

She touched his hand and gently moved it off her. Then, she slid to the side of the bed and got up. She put on her nightgown and wrapper and made her way tentatively to the door. She opened it slowly, crept out and shut it and then took one of the lanterns that was situated on the grand landing and lit it and made her way to the bedroom that Suellen and Will used, on the odd occasion they had visited her in Atlanta. She opened the door and then stopped. Why was she running away? He was in her bedroom and she had nothing to be ashamed of, had she? God forbid if he thought she was somehow regretting what had happened. She was being ridiculous, cowardly even. She closed the door, returned to her bedroom and climbed back into her bed, clinging stiffly to her side. In her absence Rhett had stretched out and looked as though he was not going anywhere – for a while at least. She looked at him and felt a strong urge to touch his tranquil face – but she resisted. She didn't want him to wake up and be under any illusions that she somehow thought their lovemaking meant anything more to her than it had to him.

She fell asleep again and was woken by the sun streaming through the drapes and the birds chirping their morning greeting. In her sleep she had turned and was now facing her husband. She opened her tear stung eyes and yawned. He was propped up on his elbow, the blankets pushed down to his waist and was looking intensely at her. As soon as their eyes met, his expression became the blank canvass she had become used to over the years.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning," she replied, thankful that her modesty was protected by her nightdress.

"Did you sleep well?" So, Scarlett mused, they had already slipped back into conversing with the polite indifference that had prevailed in the final years of their marriage.

"Off and on," she answered, hoping her expression appeared as bland as his.

He cleared his throat. "Well, now that you are awake, I guess I can go." What was that supposed to mean? Her confusion must have registered on her face because he added. "I didn't want you to think I was avoiding you after...er...our activities of last night so I thought for once I would walk on the right side of chivalry and wait until you awoke before I took my leave." She didn't say anything and instead shrugged nonchalantly, pulling the covers further up her neck. She looked at him as he got out of bed and put his clothes on. She felt an unwelcome fluttering in her heart as she stared at his tanned, muscular body and then a strange ache between her legs.

"Remember, I'm taking Wade to get a horse," he said to her as he buttoned up his pants. "Just in case you wonder where he is. We'll probably be out all day." Aah yes, she had forgotten Rhett's promise to her son. "I know someone near Jonesboro who will have something perfect for him so we might go there."

"Fine," she said gently. "I trust your judgment." He moved towards the balcony. How ironic that a married couple could not be caught in the same bedroom, she thought. And even he must know that the subterfuge was unnecessary – nothing got past their servants and certainly nothing past Mammy. He parted the voile curtain to make his exit and then suddenly stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Bonnie's doll that Scarlett had left on her chaise longue a few hours earlier. He went over to it and picked it up. He stared at it for a while, twisting the dark, chocolate curls in his fingers, absorbed in his own memories. Scarlett got out of bed slowly and tentatively went over to him. She put a hand on his back and then, remembering it was her husband she was dealing with, she quickly withdrew it. He looked at her, his eyes black saucers holding a multitude of secrets.

"I was going to see if Dilcey could mend her. The arm's completely fallen off now," Scarlett said quietly.

"Is there really any point?" he asked, equally quietly. "I mean she's broken and she'll never be properly fixed." Like our marriage, Scarlett thought.

"Well, I think there's a point, Rhett," she said gently but insistently. "Maybe I'll keep her in this bedroom or maybe I'll give her to Ella. If you don't want her."

"I didn't have you down as someone overly sentimental." He put the doll back on the furniture.

"You don't have me down as much Rhett," she responded, her voice crackling with just a teaspoon of hurt.

"Sorry, Scarlett. I didn't mean it to come out like that," he said. "It's just...well, I didn't have you down as someone who would care about a...this...toy."

"I guess I don't know what I care about these days. I keep searching for that answer." He looked at her, his eyes flickering with...something she hadn't ever seen. God, she hoped it wasn't his pity or kindness.

"Anyway," she said, her voice stronger and with determination, "We never sorted out her room did we? We probably should..." her voice trailed off as a rising sob cut her vocal chords. He shook his head.

"You sort the room – do with it what you will. I'm not sure that I'll ever be ready for that."

She nodded slowly. "I don't intend to do it just yet but...well, maybe after the summer, it's just...I guess I'd rather remember her alive than create some sort of mausoleum in this house." He smiled at her, with a hint of approval.

"I've always admired your bravery," he said in almost a whisper.

"I've not always had a lot of choice," Scarlett scoffed, trying to make light of his comments.

"Maybe not..." He put Ruby down again and walked over to the doors. He hesitated at the threshold and then turned to his wife. "Scarlett, I want to say...I mean...about last night..." Oh dear God, please don't say anything, she silently willed. She didn't want him to say that it had been a mistake or that it hadn't changed anything or to remind her that he didn't love her. She knew that. She had been used, probably in the same way as he used Belle's girls and she didn't care. Hadn't she used him too?

"Oh please, Rhett, there's no need to say anything. I'm not an ingen...engen..." she struggled to get the word out.

"Ingénue..." he helped. Scarlett had always been hopeless with long or foreign words.

"Exactly. Ingénue," she copied. "I've had three husbands and..." He smiled at her, this time with the familiar mischievousness that she had become used to over the years. He walked back over to her and kissed her on her forehead, like her father had been wont to do.

"Just as long as...well, anyway. It doesn't matter. I'd better start my day." He turned away and as he pulled the thin translucent curtain back, he piped. "I didn't regret it though," and then winked at her and walked away. She smiled coyly to herself. Was there a thawing in the ice that encased them?

As she lost sight of his back, she suddenly remembered the ball. How had they left it? And then she remembered their terse exchange a couple of nights before when she had told him she didn't want him to go but now...now...

Damn, she thought. "Rhett," she called out in a hoarse whisper. But if he heard, he didn't return.

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By nine o'clock, Wade and Rhett had left the house. She caught a peak of them as they made their way down the staircase, Wade mimicking Rhett in dress and attempting to mimic him in swagger. He was babbling away with excitement and had put on a wide brimmed panama hat – just like Rhett wore. She sighed. Rhett had always had an easiness with children and she knew that, however hard she might try, she could never hope to replicate it.

She called for Mammy to help her dress and by Mammy's raised eyebrows, she knew Mammy was aware that Rhett had slept in her room the previous night. She was still as astute as ever, despite her increasing years.

"Yuz in a mighty fine muwd, today Miss Scarlett," Mammy commented. Scarlett eyed her suspiciously.

"Am I, Mammy? No finer than any other day. Now, if you could just help me into this dress." From her closet, she grabbed an off white taffeta creation with emerald green overlay at the bodice, that cinched in at the waist perfectly. In spite of herself, she found herself thinking about Rhett and him taking her to bed and the thrill she got from it all. It had been so long ago since she had had any form of intimacy with Rhett – in fact, the last time, was that wild night when he had literally swept her off her feet but unlike that night, this time she had not woken up bruised – either mentally or physically.

"Now Mammy darling, I'm going to the ball tonight – the one for the Ladies Memorial Association – and I want to wear my midnight blue watered silk gown. I'll need help with my hair, we can rinse it with cologne and I will probably want a bath before I go out so if you would be an angel and have everything ready for me for five o'clock, I should be back by then."

"Miss Scarlett, Ahs think yo' shud wear yer black gown. It's mor fittin' for the Memorial Association and Miss Melly..." Scarlett flashed her cat's eyes at her old nursemaid.

"Mammy..."

"Der is no one else to tell yer Miss Scarlett. Miss Ellen wuld agree wid me."

"Mammy, Mother has probably not agreed with much I have done over the last few years. Now, please just be a darling and do as I ask." She kissed the old black broad on her cheek coquettishly and then took out her pearl necklace from her ermine covered jewellery box. She snapped the box shut and without stopping to put the necklace on, opened the door.

"I'll be at the store, Mammy, just in case anyone is looking for me. I think Ella is meant to be playing with Beau today but I can't remember what was arranged."

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Scarlett spent a restless morning at the store and in the afternoon, when there were fewer customers, she decided to take her carriage to the mills. She had no reason to go there but she was bored and she hoped she might bump into Ashley. She hadn't seen him for weeks as he had been so busy with the mills and she felt that if she didn't check in on him soon, she would be failing in her promise to Melly. She would likely see him tonight at the ball, but she was well aware that all suspicious eyes would be on them and they would have no privacy.

When she got to the mills, she parked her carriage, tied up her horse and went inside to his office. He was alone.

"Ashley, darling," she said affectionately, as he stood up to greet her and kissed her outstretched hand.

"What a lovely surprise, Scarlett," he said. "I was just finishing here and thinking that I should get home to Beau – I haven't seen much of him recently. Come, sit down," he gestured towards a leather chair in the corner of his office. "Can I get you some lime cordial?"

"That would be wonderful. The sun has been quite hot today and I'm thirsty from the drive over." He went over to another corner of the room and poured them both two glasses of cordial.

"Here you are," he said, handing her a glass. She took it and sipped a few mouthfuls. "So, how have you been?"

"I've been fine, Ashley. Just keeping myself busy. It's easier that way. I saw Aunt Pitty yesterday. It was Bonnie's birthday and..." Her voice drifted off and for a moment she thought of her dead daughter. Then she said, changing topics, "I suspect you heard that Rhett is back."

"Well, yes, India did mention it. And Beau." Ashley averted his eyes, awkwardly.

"No explanation, nothing. He just appeared out of nowhere on Wednesday afternoon," she said, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. To anyone else, she would never in a million years admit that Rhett had effectively abandoned her but with Ashley, she didn't have to pretend. It was strange how, with Melanie's passing, their relationship had shifted from one of imagined lustful love, to one of pure and platonic friendship and, just like Rhett, he knew the real circumstances of all her marriages and also had a fair idea of the state of her current marriage. "He hasn't even told me where he's been or told me how long he is going to stay. He just waltzes back into my life and the children's. No doubt he will be off again soon." Her voice wavered as the memory and humiliation of his desertion washed over her and then she steeled herself as she remembered the events of last night. Despite their physical intimacy, nothing had changed between them and she was fine with that. Wasn't she?

"Oh Scarlett," he said, as he reached out and squeezed her free hand. "You mustn't let him upset you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm not really upset, just frustrated I guess from his...behaviour. But it's my fault too. I'm sure everything will work out in the end." She reached into her black purse and pulled out Rhett's handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Anyway," she said, putting on the brave smile that had always been part of her armour, "I came to see how you are doing not talk about my woes. Is business good? Do you want me to take a look at the books?" When she had first suggested this in the month after Melly had died, his face had flushed crimson with embarrassment but he had reluctantly let her. Now he had no reservations about turning over his books to her.

"If you wouldn't mind," he said. "It would be good to have you cast your eyes over last month's business."

"Why don't you give me the ledger now and I'll take it home and return it one day next week?" He nodded, went over to his desk and pulled a brown, leather book down from one of the adjacent dusty shelves.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, handing it to her and sitting on the edge of the chair. "Business hasn't been bad. In fact, René's cousin is in town and..." He was momentarily interrupted by a knock at the door. Simon, one of the overseers poked his head round.

"Mr Wilkes, Mr Picard is here to see you."

"Tell him, I'll be right out." Waiting for the door to close, Ashley then said, "That'll be him. He's building a couple of saloons in Louisiana and is sourcing some of his material from me. I should go and see him." He stood up and Scarlett rose to her feet too, the heavy ledger in her arms.

"I'd best be going then," she said. "Will I see you tonight at the ball?"

"Yes, yes. India, Honey, John and I will be there."

"Oh, I didn't realise Honey was attending. I haven't seen her since...well, since Melly." Honey was someone Scarlett had no desire to socialise with.

"She's in town until mid next week and of course she knows everyone going to the ball. It'll be strange going to a gathering without Melly. I didn't really want to go, I am not sure it is even appropriate for me to go, but Maybelle and India left me with little choice and told me Melly would likely haunt me more if I didn't go than if I did go. You know how much she was involved in all her charities." Scarlett nodded. Her sister-in-law had been a living saint.

"Maybelle's certainly been very persuasive," she said, thinking of her own invitation. Ashley held the door open for Scarlett and as she sidled past him, her body brushed his shirt. Once, she would have given anything to touch him but now as she did so, her heart didn't even skip a beat.

"Ashley!" Scarlett looked straight ahead in the direction from where the deep voice with Creole inflections came. She knew without being introduced that this was Jack Picard, René's cousin. For some reason she had conjured up a picture of him with the same monkey features as René but in almost all ways, they looked nothing alike. Jack was as dark as René but he had a strong jawline, broad, straight nose and thick black hair that fell over his eyes. He was taller than René – almost as tall as Rhett – and although he was bulky, he carried it well. She felt his eyes fall on her as she and Ashley walked towards him.

"Jack," Ashley greeted, and the two men shook hands. Ashley then turned to Scarlett. "This is my very good friend and my wife's sister-in-law, Scarlett Butler." Again, she felt his eyes bore into her. She smiled demurely at him and held out her hand, still clutching the ledger to her chest with the other.

"Delighted to meet you, Miss...Mrs Butler." He kissed her hand and as he did so, she felt a strange thrill travel up her arm and she felt herself get warm under her collar.

"Delighted too, Mr Picard." And then, because she was beginning to feel slightly self-conscious under his gaze, she added, "I heard from Maybelle that you are staying with them. How long will you be in town?"

"Oh, I haven't quite decided yet. A few more days at least. I haven't been to Atlanta for years – not since René and Maybelle's wedding. It's changed a lot and I like the change." She thought back to Maybelle's wedding which she had attended but couldn't remember him from then.

"Well, I'd best leave you two businessmen to yourselves. It's getting late in the afternoon and I need to get home."

"Enchanted to meet you, Mrs Butler. I hope that we shall see each other again, soon."

"Scarlett's going to the ball tonight that your cousin-in-law has had a hand in arranging," Ashley offered.

"I hope to anyway," Scarlett said, realising she still had to deal with the unresolved issue of Rhett's attendance.

"Well, I shall see you tonight then." He bowed as she sashayed past. She didn't need to turn around to know he was still looking at her and she was relieved that she had worn the dress she had on – green was always her best colour. Scarlett allowed the corners of her mouth to curve up in a satisfied smile as she walked into the bright sunlight. It never harmed her bruised ego to know that she could still work her charms on members of the opposite sex.


	8. Chapter 8

_Gosh – writing can be so hard. I now understand what it is to get writer's block! This isn't my best chapter but it keeps the story moving, so forgive me if it doesn't quite work. Some commentators have said that Jack seems very like Rhett – of course, my image of Rhett is Clark Gable (aren't they one and the same?) and I suppose I think of Jack as a Robert Taylor/Gregory Peck combination. I think Scarlett is actually more attracted to dark handsomeness than blonde handsomeness and I think that, from the moment her husband carried her up the stairs on that wild night, she has become slightly more aware of her sexuality._

_I also think that there is a big difference between Scarlett's hapless pursuit of Ashley and her possible pursuit of Rhett. Ashley led her on! But Rhett is not and so I do think that, however much Scarlett loves Rhett, even if he is her true love, she wouldn't spend years and years pursuing him if he kept to his mantra of "my love for you has died." But has it?_

_Please let me know what you think – it does help and spurs me on._

Chapter 8

When Scarlett finally got home, both her children were still out. She put the heavy ledger from the mills on her bureau in the parlour and went upstairs. Mammy was waiting for her, with a bath full of warm soapy water, and helped her bathe and wash her hair, rinsing it with the familiar cologne that Scarlett had used since her teenage years.

As she sat in her bedroom, with Mammy combing her wet hair through, Scarlett heard the front door slam and the patter of little feet running up the stairs.

"Ella," she called out, not entirely sure she would be heard from behind the thick walls. The footsteps stopped and then her bedroom door creaked open. A little face with damp, ginger curls peered through the crack.

"Hello Mother," she said, standing in the doorway, uncertain whether to enter.

"Come in Ella and tell me about your day," Scarlett coaxed gently. She hated the fact that both of her children were so shy around her and the thought of it made her shudder along with the memory of Rhett's stinging words about her breaking their spirit. Ella walked towards her mother but stood closer to Mammy, as though Mammy might offer some protection if her mother decided to lash out.

"Honey chile," Mammy said, momentarily distracted. "Ahs giv yer a bath jes as soon as Ahs finish wid yer mother." Mammy rubbed the top of Ella's head affectionately eliciting a giggle from Ella and then returned to trying to remove Scarlett's knots from her cascading, raven hair.

"So, did you go to Beau's today?" Scarlett asked. Ella nodded. "And what did you do?" Ella giggled again.

"I can't remember," she said, rocking back and forth on her tiptoes.

"What do you mean you can't remember?" Scarlett asked, her voice slightly raised but still trying to be gentle. Scarlett had never had much patience with any of her children, least of all Ella.

"I just can't, Mother." And then a broad grin spread across her face. "Oh yes, we played with his trains." They had been a gift from Scarlett for his ninth birthday the previous year.

"Did you see Aunt India?" Scarlett asked.

"Yes. And another lady. I can't remember her name." Honey probably, Scarlett thought. "I didn't see Uncle Ashley though. Beau said he would be back in the afternoon but he didn't come." That's my fault, Scarlett mused, and Jack Picard's. As Jack came into her consciousness, she felt herself colour. She remembered his dark, brooding features, large brown eyes and the cut of his coat that served only to emphasise his masculinity and she remembered the slight thrill she got when he placed his lips on her hand. It had been so long since a man had shown that he might be attracted to her and it had elevated her mood. She might be a married woman, approaching middle-age but she still wanted to feel pretty.

"Mother?" Ella said, looking quizzically at Scarlett. Scarlett realised that her daughter had been prattling on, but she had not taken in a word.

"Sorry darling. Have you eaten yet?" Scarlett asked, her attention returning to her daughter. Ella shook her head. "Well, why don't you go with Mammy and Mammy will fix you your supper." Mammy put the comb down and took Ella's hand.

"Ahs giv yer a bath first, Miss Ella. Den yer kan eat." Mammy led Ella out, leaving Scarlett alone. She walked over to her mantelpiece to look at the old carriage clock which she had appropriated when she had last visited Tara, shortly after Melly had died. She had espied it in little Suzie's bedroom, relegated to a corner and had decided that her niece had neither a need for it nor merited it. It had been a wedding present to Ellen from her sister Pauline, which Ellen had kept on her vanity next to a daguerreotype of Gerald, and Scarlett had always coveted it. It was from Paris, intricately carved round the edges with gold leaf and had a delicate porcelain face and, as she didn't have anything that had belonged to her mother other than some garnet beads that she rarely wore and a rosary that she had long ago misplaced, she had taken it without telling Suellen.

The clock was ticking methodically towards six o'clock. Where were her son and husband? They had been out for almost nine hours and in just over an hour's time she would need to leave for the ball. Had Rhett intended riding back from Jonesboro with the horse? Surely not – and if he did, it would be too tiring for Wade to make the journey all in one day. She would be furious with him if he had subjected her son to that ride.

Scarlett felt hot, frustrated tears rise to the surface of her eyes. Rhett was humiliating her again – she had already had to suffer six months of gossip and intrigue, commencing the day of Melly's funeral when Rhett abandoned her at the graveside and didn't even go on to the Wilkes' Ivy Street house and now she would either have to go to the ball on her own or she would have to cry off and feign an illness. So much for coming back to Atlanta to keep gossip down!

Her mind wandered to the previous night. For the first time since he had returned, they had managed to have a civilised conversation, without it being broken by nasty barbs. She remembered Rhett winking at her as he left the scene of their crime, cocky as ever. For some reason, she had thought that their intimacy had signified some sort of rapprochement between them – but, as the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of Rhett, she was becoming increasingly unsure. Had he taken her at her word? He had always had an uncanny ability to read her – surely, she knew that she had wanted him to go to the ball, despite what she might have said to the contrary.

She went and lay on her bed, her hair dampening the pillows. She heard Ella's laughter and Mammy's gruff voice scolding her about something that she couldn't quite make out.

Suddenly she heard someone knocking on the front door, followed, after a short delay, by Dilcey's dulcet tones as she let the someone in. Scarlett got out of bed and put her ear to her door. Wade was home but he was alone. She opened her door and walked out into the hallway and then towards the top of the stairs. Wade was already halfway up the main staircase. He seemed to have lost his hat and his trousers had mud splattered all over them, as though someone had thrown a paintbrush at them, but he was wearing a huge grin. His face was slightly burnt from the sun, which had brought out some faint freckles. He was looking more and more like a Hamilton every day.

"Wade, darling, where's..." Scarlett cleared her throat as she decided to change her question at the last minute. "Did you get a horse?" Even though she was more interested in where her husband was than whether they had been successful in their pursuit, she knew that she had to play the role of interested mother.

"Oh, he's beautiful," he said, dreamily. "He's called Red Hunter – except he's not red, he's a chestnut colour. We left him in Jonesboro and Uncle Rhett has asked Mr Simpson to bring him to Atlanta next week..."

"Where is your Uncle Rhett, Wade?" Scarlett said, cutting in.

"I'm not sure Mother." He cast his eyes down, to avoid his mother's searching gaze. "He dropped me home and then he said he had to go out."

"Oh," Scarlett said, disappointment etched on her face. Wade was at the top of the staircase now and instinctively put his arm round her. Scarlett kissed her son on his forehead and then wriggled out of his embrace. She didn't want him to know how let down she felt. Where had Rhett gone at this hour? Was the allure of that woman so strong that he couldn't even wait until the sun had set? Scarlett's eyes narrowed in anger as she thought of Belle and what a hold she had on her husband.

"Mother?" For the second time in an hour, she had forgotten to concentrate on what her children were saying.

"Sorry Wade."

"I'm hungry. Are we eating yet?"

Scarlett looked at her son distractedly and then removed some imaginary lint off his coat before smoothing the creases in the fabric. "Darling, Mammy is bathing Ella and then Ella is going to have supper. Why don't you change into some clean clothes and join Ella?" As she looked back at her son, she realised that, with or without Rhett, she needed to protect her children's tentative place in society, something that she had previously spent so much of their lives being indifferent to.

"Are you joining us for supper, Mother?" Wade asked innocently.

"Hmm?"

"Are you eating with us, Mother?" Wade asked again, as sweetly as the first time.

"No darling. I've got a ball to go to. Mrs Picard asked me to join her table with your Uncle Ashley and Aunt India as well as Hugh and some other people and I intend to do just that. I'd better get ready – I am not sure that I would make a very good impression if I just turned up in my wrapper." Wade started walking to his room but then he turned round.

"Mother, even if you did turn up in your wrapper, you would still be the most beautiful lady in the room." Scarlett laughed.

"How do you know that Wade?"

"Because you are the most beautiful lady in the whole, wide world."

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An hour later, Scarlett was dressed and Pork was driving her to the town hall. Reena had helped her with her hair, which she wore tied back at the sides and in a cluster of loose ringlets at the top, and Mammy had helped her into her dress. Despite Mammy's disapproval, she had won their battle and worn her midnight blue gown with its voile overlay. It was cut low over the bosom with a large silk corsage fixed to one side of her waist, the material draped tightly to give a subtle pleated effect. It was one of her favourite gowns, and was almost identical in colour to that which she had worn on her honeymoon when Rhett had taken her to dinner at New Orleans' equivalent of the Moulin Rouge.

When they approached the hall, Scarlett asked Pork to drop her on the street, rather than drive up the carriage way. She wanted a muted entrance and she guessed that her carriage would probably be one of the more ostentatious to present itself at the ball. She got out carefully, anxious not to lose her slippers which were just a little too big for her. She had had them made when she was pregnant with her fourth child, not realising that her feet had already swelled and despite stuffing the toes with tissue, they still didn't fit properly. "Ahs be bak at midnight, Miss Scarlett," Pork said. He looked kindly at his mistress and she wondered if he knew that Rhett was meant to be accompanying her.

"Thank you Pork. And if Captain Butler gets home..." She stopped. She didn't want her servants to be the go-betweens in their fractured marriage. "Well, just tell him I'll see him tomorrow."

Pork gave her another thoughtful look. "G'dnight, Miss Scarlett." She stood on the gravel outside the hall as she watched him drive away, thankful for such loyal servants. If she thought about it, all of the old timers like Mammy, Pork and Dilcey would probably prefer to be at Tara, where life was gentler, the air cleaner and they could enjoy the vista of the billowing cotton fields. She was unsure how much longer she could keep them in Atlanta, especially Mammy who had already quit the Peachtree Street mansion once before in semi-retirement. But for now, she needed them and she had a feeling that they knew that and that was why they stayed with her, in the large, cold impersonal house that none of them really called home. That and a sense of love and duty to Gerald and Ellen O'Hara. Scarlett, as blind as she always had been to other people's feelings, didn't stop to contemplate that they might love her too and that their continued presence in Atlanta was as much about their desire to do something to ease her pain over Bonnie's and Melly's deaths and the disintegration of her marriage as it was to do with old loyalties to their long dead master and mistress.

Scarlett took a deep breath and started walking slowly towards the entrance. She wasn't entirely sure what sort of reception she would get and she wished that she had Rhett beside her. She hadn't been to such a large gathering with Atlanta's old families since...actually she couldn't remember when. Had it been at Fanny and Tommy's wedding, when she had been so busy ensnaring Frank?

The majority of guests were milling around on the lawn outside, exchanging greetings, although some were already making their way in to a building that had emerged predominantly unscathed from Sherman's war on Atlanta. Only a few people noticed the old bullet holes scattered round the large doorframe. It was a warmer night than the previous night, and the women had dressed with that in mind. They had dispensed with their winter shawls, so that the finery of their gowns would be on full display. There were not many opportunities in Atlanta for the Old Guard to dress up but if there was a suitable occasion, the women embraced it, even if their budgets could never quite stretch to new clothes.

She saw India first, then Honey and John and finally Ashley. They were a few yards in front of her and so she picked up her pace, whilst trying to retain a ladylike gait and her slippers. Even though the gossip that had swirled around her and Ashley for years had died down, she was well aware that it would not take much to fan that particular fire and so mindful that her reputation was still hanging precariously by a thread, she called out India's name, rather than her former beloved's.

India turned round. "Scarlett," India said as the rest of the group stopped and turned round too. She smiled at her, not particularly warmly but not disingenuously either. The war between Melly's sister-in-laws was definitely over, even if the ashes hadn't entirely settled. Scarlett walked up to the group and kissed India on both cheeks. She then turned to Ashley who took her hand and kissed it and then to Honey and her husband John. Despite having been married for nearly ten years, Scarlett could still sense Honey's animosity towards her. Stupid woman, she thought, but then put out her hand and Honey shook it.

"Where's Captain Butler?" Honey asked, a malicious glint in her eyes. "I heard he was back in town."

"He's still in Jonesboro with Wade," Scarlett lied. "He was taking Wade to buy a horse today and I guess they got delayed. I was going to wait for them but I didn't want to miss out on tonight."

"It's good of you to come, my dear," Ashley said and sensing Scarlett's discomfort, then added. "Let's go in shall we? I believe there is a drinks' reception first before we go to our tables."

The group walked in, Scarlett sticking to India's side but not speaking to her. There must have been nearly 250 people – and almost all of her old friends, Scarlett noted. She knew that none of her former friends, the "white trash" that Rhett had always loved to denigrate, would be here tonight. There was a seemingly unbridgeable schism between the old families and the new and Scarlett was possibly the only person present who had fraternised with both.

"Scarlett!" Maybelle called out. She was dressed in a dove grey silk, which captured her blue grey eyes perfectly. Her hair had been curled and piled high on her head, with just a few tendrils escaping round her nape. She looked as pretty as Scarlett had ever seen her. "Scarlett, I'm so pleased to see you," Maybelle said as she kissed her. Maybelle's eyes then darted around, as if she was looking for someone.

"Where's Captain Butler?" Scarlett knew that this question would be asked many more times before the night was over and she silently cursed him.

"He went to Jonesboro with Wade today and they aren't back yet," she volunteered, a note of apathy present in her voice.

"Oh, I see. Well, that's a shame," Maybelle said and then her mouth broadened into a luminous smile. "I'll just have to thank you instead."

"Thank me for what?" Scarlett asked, arching one of her eyebrows.

"For the champagne of course! Mother couldn't quite believe it when Captain Butler stopped by her bakery yesterday and donated thirty cases of champagne. We'll be drinking it all night and there will be some left over for next year's ball!" Rhett must have ransacked their wine cellar at home as she was unsure how else he would miraculously find thirty cases of champagne, without placing an order at the wine merchant weeks in advance.

She bristled. What was he doing giving away her champagne? She opened her mouth to retort that he had failed to ask her but then she stopped herself. What did it matter? They hadn't hosted a party for months, years even, not since well before her miscarriage and they were hardly going to start now. It actually hadn't been a bad idea of his.

"I'm pleased you could use it, Maybelle." Maybelle smiled again. Scarlett had always sensed that she had a minor crush on Rhett, ever since he had provided her with the satin for her wedding gown.

"I can't believe so many people are here! We sold so many tickets. Almost everyone I know is here." Scarlett looked around again. It was true – there were only a few absent faces, including Aunt Pitty's and Rhett's but everyone else was here, the quartet of dowagers - Mrs Meade, Mrs Merriweather, Mrs Elsing and Mrs Whiting - their children and nieces and nephews, the Burrs. Even Uncle Henry, who was standing in one corner talking to Old Man Merriweather and Doctor Meade, had obviously decided to break from his usual curmudgeonly ways and attend.

"Well, it's going to be a huge success and you deserve it," Scarlett said genuinely. Just then, a waiter came round with glasses of champagne for everyone. Ashley handed them out to his sisters, John, Scarlett and Maybelle but didn't take one for himself. Maybelle turned to Scarlett and raised her glass.

"To you, Scarlett and to our friendship."

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By the time they took their seats at their tables, Scarlett had already imbibed three glasses of champagne and her well honed flirtatious techniques were on full display. She ensured that she was never standing with Ashley but that didn't stop men flocking to her, especially as the rumours of the Butlers' generosity circulated. She saw people that she hadn't seen for years, some even from the country, and as she relaxed into the evening, she started to enjoy herself and forget that she was without a husband.

When Scarlett got to the table, Jack Picard was already there, embroiled in some conversation with René and Ashley. When she caught his eye, she found herself blushing. He reminded her of a younger version of Rhett, but someone who had not been banished from society.

"Good evening, Mr Picard," she said boldly, holding out her hand. Even though he had had his eyes on her for some seconds, he only stopped talking to the other men when she finally spoke.

"Mrs Butler. How wonderful to see you again." And then, seeing the confused look of his cousin, he added as an aside to René. "We met at the mills today."

"Please, call me Scarlett – everyone else does." She looked demurely at him, through her long eyelashes – a look she had perfected in a bygone age.

"Well, then, you must call me Jack. When someone calls me Mr Picard, I look around, expecting to see my father." Scarlett laughed and then turned to René.

"Hello René. I just saw Maybelle – you must feel very proud of her. To put on such an event as this."

"Yes, I am, Scarlett. She has been working on this ball for weeks. I am just so pleased so many people supported it. And the Association will now definitely have the money to finally complete the obelisk for the cemetery."

"Good. I'm pleased." And she was, even though she found the city's obsession with remembering the dead nearly ten years after the end of the war slightly morbid. Scarlett looked across the room and saw Andy and Mary Bonnell approaching, together with the Elsings. As Scarlett greeted them, René gestured to the table and said,

"We shouldn't wait for Maybelle – she'll probably be late joining us but we should sit down. There is a seating plan. Scarlett, is Rhett joining us?"

"I think we should assume not," she said quietly.

"Well, just in case, we'll leave his seat at the table. Scarlett, you are here." Scarlett walked round and Jack was immediately by her side, pulling out her chair.

"Thank you, Jack." She smiled, her dimples as coquettish as ever.

"My pleasure," he purred, not taking his eyes off her as he took the seat to her right. This could be a fun evening, Scarlett thought. She would have to be careful with Jack Picard though. A bit of flirtation was fine but she was still a married woman, even if the marriage was dead, and she didn't want to be ostracised from her old friends again, especially considering the effort she had put in over the last few months. She didn't attend sewing circles out of the goodness of her heart!

As the guests took their places at the table, and Jack was introduced to Fanny and then the Wilkes' sisters and John, she looked down at her hands and at the wedding rings she wore. How ironic that they really had been symbols of her husband's love, whatever he might have protested at the time. Suddenly she felt sad, despite the gaiety that surrounded her and the champagne that she had drunk. Sad at the missed opportunities and her obstinacy at holding on to a supposed love that had never really existed. If only she hadn't been so unperceptive and so headstrong, she might have had almost everything she could ever have wanted. Again, the memory of the previous night unwelcomingly crept into her head. She remembered his hot, insistent kisses and the feel of his arms around her. It had been so natural, so easy and, if she was forced to admit it, rather wonderful too, even if no love had been exchanged. She had wanted him so badly and he had seemingly wanted her too. Even if only for...

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the feel of someone's hand on the small of her back. She turned round to see Rhett taking his place at the table. He leaned towards her as he sat down and whispered, "Sorry I'm late Scarlett. I had to deal with something rather unexpectedly." She smiled at him, a smile that went to her eyes and made them sparkle as brilliantly as the emerald on her hand. Then, quick as a flash, everyone was greeting him, and Scarlett sat back and observed. She could sense that all eyes were on their table, everyone trying to get a glimpse of the former renegade who had been absent from Atlanta for six months. And she was happy that he had lived up to his side of the bargain and was with her at such a public function which would at least help quell the rumours that the Butler marriage was broken. At least until he left again.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers, particularly Guardian Spirit, NettieDreamer, Sunnyray (you are one of the best and most honest reviewers – please keep it up!) Sheleila, MusicRox, Iambq and BlaqueCat13 (you are right – it should have been Jacques – missed that but we will have to stick with the Anglo-Saxon spelling here). This is the next chapter – I am not sure a couple of things in here would have happened in 1870s society – and I am not sure really what happened at a ball – for example, I was trying to find out if they had restrooms/toilets at public places – I think they did. If anyone knows of any good websites with information about middle to upper class 1870s life in the US, I would be grateful for some pointers!_

_As always, none of these wonderful characters belong to me – they are all the IP of MM and her estate._

_There are so many good stories on this website so I really do appreciate it when you take the time to read and/or review. Please let me know what you think – I can take the criticism!_

Chapter 9

"Everyone seems mighty pleased to see you," Scarlett said with a sarcastic tint to her voice, after their old friends had finally taken their seats at their own tables, scattered around the large oak panelled room.

Rhett roared with laughter, loud enough for Ashley and India to look at him from across the table, before he leaned towards his wife and whispered, "Oh my darling, I do believe you are jealous. I have learnt that people have very short memories when it is convenient." She shot him a dagger look, her eyes alive with fire. "Cheer up Scarlett, I am sure once you have worn your hair shirt for a while longer, they will start to forget your previous indiscretions."

Scarlett sucked in her breath but her head was too fuzzy from the champagne to think quickly. He grinned at her, in that manner of his that only ever served to increase her ire. It was so unfair! She had tried for months to ingratiate herself with her old friends. She knew that her rapprochement with them was fragile and yet her husband waltzed back into Atlanta society as though he was everyone's favourite son. How times had changed from a decade ago when he wasn't even received.

"Why were you late, Rhett?" she asked coolly.

"Was I? I don't believe you ever specified a time."

"But Rhett, I did..."

"Scarlett, stop it. You know you never gave me a time and I also distinctly remember you telling me you didn't want me to go. What did you say?"

"I don't remember," Scarlett mumbled, irritated at being caught out.

"Something along the lines of you'd rather go on your own. I didn't believe you though." He took a sip of the wine that was in front of him. "Really darling, the lady doth protest too much methinks."

Scarlett scowled at him. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. You're here now."

"Indeed. Along with half of Atlanta it would seem." He caught her eye and raised his left eyebrow in mocking derision. "Is this why you were so keen to attend? So that everyone could see the Butlers play out a happy evening amongst old friends."

"You're hateful sometimes!" she hissed.

"Only sometimes?"

She looked at him as, once again, she tried to think of some stinging retort but then the memory of the previous night came back to her. Why did she feel her heart pounding and at the same time a real hatred towards him? "Yes, only sometimes." And then, because the alcohol was having more of an effect than she was used to and had loosened her tongue, she murmured. "You weren't hateful last night." He looked at her, as though he was searching for something, and a few seconds later, his taunting smile started to spread across his face. Then, with his eyes still focussed on her, he moved his right hand slowly under the table, shielded from prying eyes by the long, draping, white table cloth, and stroked her left thigh, backwards and forwards, edging up higher and higher and then finally right up to where the gusset of her drawers started before his hand moved to the gap between her legs. Scarlett was transfixed, the headiness of the champagne momentarily taking away her sensibilities. Please don't, she thought, but she didn't articulate him to stop. She held his gaze, silently challenging him to continue. Then she heard someone say her name and the spell was broken.

"Scarlett?" Jack was asking her something. She averted her eyes from her deviant husband and in the privacy of the table's shadows, put her hand over his and sank her nails hard into him. His face didn't flinch but she felt his hand jerk away from her body.

"Er..." Her head was spinning. She looked at Jack and couldn't remember what he asked and then she looked at her husband who was grinning mischievously at her – or was he looking at Maybelle? Oh, dear God, she needed to clear her head. She needed some fresh air. She felt she was going to suffocate.

"Scarlett?" Jack enquired again.

"Sorry, Jack...I was...er...distracted." How dare Rhett touch her like that, treating her like one of his common whores!

"I think Mr Picard is asking if you would like some wine," Rhett said, before he turned to speak to Andy and Mary Bonnell.

"Yes please...actually, no thank you. I think..." She moved her chair back from the table. "I think I need to get some fresh air."

Rhett looked at her as she stood up but he didn't break off his conversation with Andy. She heard him mention "Europe" and then "Savannah" but couldn't hear any of the words in between. She made her way through the tables towards the direction of where she had seen her Uncle Henry go a few moments before and decided that maybe she would speak to him but when she reached the anteroom, he was nowhere to be seen. She sat down on one of the rosewood sofas, tucked in a little alcove by a bay window, which overlooked parkland at the back. The window was ajar and she welcomed the sensation of the cooling air on her face and neck as she gathered her thoughts.

How could her feelings towards her husband oscillate so wildly? One moment she despised him, really despised him and the next moment she craved his attention and touch so badly it was indecent! She was exhausted and she hated feeling so powerless. Rhett Butler had never before had so much potency over her – yes, he had frequently won their battles of words but in all other battles, hadn't she been the victor? She tried to think back over their relationship – she had won on him lending her the money to buy the mills, she had won on the building of their house, she had won on her misguided decision not to have any more children, but then she stopped. What else had she won? She couldn't think but his victories suddenly came to the forefront of her mind – her acceptance of his marriage proposal (when she distinctly remembered wanting never to get married again), him forcing her to have Bonnie (thank God he had won that fight, she thought in shame), him forcing her to attend Ashley's birthday party, and of course the subsequent aftermath when he had made love and hate to her for hours. Actually, when she thought about it, he had won all the important conflicts – even her love. Yes, dear God, even her love. Even if he no longer cared about winning that particular battle.

Out of nowhere, she felt a hand on her shoulder and then a glass of wine thrust before her. She looked up, half expecting, half hoping to see her husband. It was Jack.

"I thought I might find you here. Are you feeling alright? You looked a bit peaky at the table." Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down next to her, careful not to crush her silk gown.

"I'm fine, really. I just needed a rest from all the inane...chattering. I have a splitting headache." As she said it, she realised she spoke the truth. Maybe she had drunk too much champagne in the earlier stages of the evening. They sat in companionable silence, each sipping their wine. After a while, he spoke.

"You and your husband seem to know everyone in that room."

Scarlett laughed. "I've lived in Atlanta a long time and he, well, he makes it his business to know everyone."

"How long's a long time?"

"Too long," Scarlett said quietly and when she met with a puzzled expression, she said more audibly, "Almost all of my adult life. I grew up in the country, Clayton County, and moved here a year after I was married."

"So is your husband from Atlanta?"

"No, he's from Charleston." He looked confused and Scarlett realised that, for whatever reason, the Picards had not filled him in on her colourful marital history. She didn't need to enlighten him on the Frank episode in that case. "My first husband – Charles - was from Atlanta. He still has family here and I think it is important for my son to know that side of his family." As she spoke she realised that it _was_ important for Wade to grow up knowing his cousin, Aunt Pittypat and the other Hamiltons as well as Ashley and the Burrs. They were all his relations. It would help make up for the fact that he would never know his father.

"Oh I see."

Scarlett wondered whether, by revealing that she had had two husbands, she had aged in his eyes and so hastily added. "I was very young when I got married the first time. Too young really but very tragically Charlie died after two months." Almost half a life time ago, Scarlett thought.

"My wife died, too, after only a few months of marriage. We'd been married ten months and she died in childbirth." Scarlett grimaced as her thoughts swung to Melly. Why was such a natural act still a cause of so many deaths?

"I'm sorry," Scarlett said gently and instinctively put her hand on his arm and then realising what she had done, quickly withdrew it. She certainly didn't want to appear over familiar or give any cause of gossip. "My best friend died recently in a similar way," she said quietly. "Actually, she was more like a sister to me. I miss her." It was the first time she had spoken of Melly to anyone in such terms but it was true. She knew now that she _had_ been like a sister, more so than either of Carreen or Suellen. But she didn't like to think about it as she hated the feeling of guilt that accompanied such sentiments. She had never told Melly how she truly felt because she hadn't realised until it was all far too late. Melly, who had always been so forthcoming and vocal in her appreciation of Scarlett.

"I miss my wife too, even though it was over three years ago. Maybelle was a sweetheart though and came to Louisiana and helped me sort out the funeral and everything. I didn't have the strength. Grief saps your energy." Scarlett nodded. She knew that only too well. She remembered the days following both Melly's and Bonnie's death where she had had to use all her efforts just to get dressed in the morning.

"Here, let's not be melancholy. Balls are supposed to be fun and I see you have your dancing shoes on," he said, looking at the black satin slippers that were poking through the layers of midnight blue, shimmering fabric. "Let's go back inside and eat and then, if your husband will permit me, I would like your first dance."

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Once dinner was over and appetites sated, the band started playing but nobody started dancing. Instead, the guests mingled and Scarlett saw that Uncle Henry was still at the ball. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks – if they communicated at all, it was usually through letter – but he was walking in her direction. When he reached their table, he greeted Ashley and his sisters in his usual abrupt fashion before walking round to Scarlett.

"Scarlett," he said sharply as she stood up and kissed him on his whiskery cheek.

"Hello, Uncle Henry. I hadn't quite expected to see you here."

"No, I don't suspect you did. My arm was twisted by Mr Merriweather and Dr Meade. We usually play cards on a Saturday night as you well know and so as they were coming here – they had no real choice in the matter - I decided to join them. We'll play our cards later when all the women are busy dancing or gossiping. That way everyone is happy."

"Well, it's lovely to see you. It's been quite a while," she said, trying to sound genuine.

"How's Wade?" he said. Even after nearly thirteen years of Scarlett working her charms on him, she could never quite pierce his brusque exterior.

"He's very well. He's enjoying school and in fact, he got a horse today. He's terribly excited about it. He's growing up so fast..."

She was interrupted by Rhett appearing and Henry Hamilton giving him a hearty slap on his back as they shook hands. "Rhett. How good to see you! How the devil are you? It's been a long time." Rhett stood back nonchalantly, with his hand in his waistcoat pocket and a cigar in the other.

"Yes it has. I hadn't meant to be away as long as I was but certain matters came up and I had a lot of business to attend to." Scarlett knew that Henry was not fooled by any of Rhett's speak and she also knew that Rhett knew he wasn't either. But she played along.

"Darling," she purred. "Tell Uncle Henry about the horse you bought Wade."

"I bought him from Will Simpson, out in Jonesboro. He's fine as a first horse for Wade. Ten years old, fifteen hands. He's being ridden over by Simpson next week."

"I should come over and see my great nephew next week then. I don't remember the last time it was I saw him." And then, with a dig at Scarlett that didn't go unnoticed by her, he said, "Since you went...away...I haven't been over. Been waiting for an invitation from Missy here." He gestured towards Scarlett, who was standing by his shoulder.

"Uncle Henry, you know you are always welcome," Scarlett said awkwardly, twisting her empty glass round in her hand.

"I'm old fashioned enough Scarlett, that I expect an invitation."

"Come round on Tuesday and Wade can show you his horse. You can stay for supper." Scarlett said. He was being very unfair – he knew how busy she had been in trying to keep her life together and she also sensed that he knew the truth about Rhett's absence.

"That's settled then. I'll come round at five o'clock."

"Henry, why don't we go to the bar and see if they can give us something a little stronger than this wine," Rhett said, and in the blink of one of Scarlett's piercing green eyes, they were gone and Scarlett was left alone. She steadied herself with one of the chairs and then sat down and asked one of the waiters to pour her another glass of wine. Her fifth, or was it her sixth?

Suddenly, there was a drum roll and all eyes turned to the stage. René Picard was standing on the edge, in front of the band with his petite wife next to him. She didn't seem entirely comfortable. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank each and every one of you for coming tonight to support this cause for the Ladies Memorial Association." There was a ripple of applause and Scarlett saw Maybelle blush and put her hand through her husband's arm.

"Your presence here tonight has meant that the Association has raised enough money for the new memorial that we hope will be unveiled in Oakland Cemetery later this year. But, In keeping with a reasonably new tradition, we are going to auction the first dance to try and raise even more money. So, gentlemen, if you wish to lead the first waltz of the evening, you must bid for your lady." The Hall descended into a sea of hushed tones as the guests started whispering amongst themselves. Scarlett remained seated, next to Honey and her husband as she thought back to the scandal she had caused twelve years ago when she had led the first dance. A scandal so great that her mother had heard about it all those miles away at Tara and had promptly - within four days! -dispatched her father to bring her home. She thought of her husband and wondered if he was thinking back to that evening. Wasn't it that dance that had changed the course of their history? After all, if she had not been there then he would not have received that first invitation from Aunty Pitty and Melly and they would not have struck up their perverse friendship that had permeated the early war years and finally led to their marriage.

The gentle din in the Hall was getting louder before finally, George Simmons raised his hand and shouted. "I'll bid fifty dollars for my wife, Mrs George Simmons." A small cheer went up. Out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw Jack approach the stage. Her heart was beating wildly as she remembered his earlier promise that he would lead her out on her first dance of the evening. "And I'll double that for the hand of Mrs Rhett Butler." Scarlett smiled broadly, oblivious to the scornful look Honey was throwing in her direction. Even after all these years, Scarlett still wanted to be the belle of the ball. She got out of her chair, feeling slightly unsteady and rueing the fact she had had that last glass of wine and started walking towards Jack, who was grinning broadly at her.

Then, in his unmistakeable Charleston drawl, she heard her husband's voice. "And I'll double that for Mrs René Picard." Scarlett stopped dead in her tracks and looked behind her, as all eyes swivelled in the direction of Rhett, who as debonair as ever was walking towards his lady of choice. He brushed past his wife and as he did so he said in a subdued tone, "I am just thinking of your reputation," before he reached the edge of the stage. Maybelle looked as ruffled as a hen but she was smiling and her hazel eyes were dancing with excitement as she took Rhett's outreached hand and walked down the stairs from the stage.

That should be me! Scarlett thought, the frown on her face betraying her jealousy. How dare Rhett do this to her! Another small battle that he had won but this time in a very public setting. Why couldn't he have bid for her? With hurt pride, she walked away from the dance floor, back towards the anteroom where she had earlier sought refuge. She swayed slightly as she moved and cursed her slippers which were far too loose. She was gripping them with her toes in an effort to keep them on.

She heard the music to the waltz start but didn't deign to turn round. She didn't need to witness her humiliation played out. She smiled at a couple of familiar faces as she passed them, her mask firmly affixed. No one must know how much she was hurting or how much she cared that she wasn't leading the dance. She was born to lead dances and Maybelle – well, she was born to follow.

"There you are." She felt a hand brush her back and she stopped walking. She was almost at the exit of the room. She looked up at Jack, into his handsome, kind face, hoping he couldn't read her disappointment. "I thought you had agreed to give me your first dance?"

"I'm...well..." she stammered. "These shoes are too big for me, Jack. I am afraid I will make a fool of myself. I don't think I'll be dancing tonight after all. I might step out of them."

"Nonsense! You look like you were born to dance, with or without shoes. You're the only reason I have stuck around at this ball and it would be such a pity if we didn't share one dance." Was he flirting with her? No one had flirted with her for ever so long and she was definitely out of practice in picking up the vibes.

"If you don't mind, Jack, I would really rather not." Then, out of nowhere, she hiccoughed and she felt her shame was complete. "Excuse me." She tried to walk on but he placed a hand on her arm.

"Come on, Scarlett," he looked beseechingly into her cat like eyes, eyes that had bewitched many men before him. "Let's go and show my cousin and your husband how the waltz is really done. Please?"

"Oh..." She hesitated. He was being so _nice_ to her as well as pandering to her ego. "Well, alright then. I am sure I can grip my toes to keep these shoes on for a dance. But just one dance and then I think I might go home."

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Scarlett danced three dances with Jack before she begged him to let her rest. She felt nauseous and giddy and the twirling around was not helping her get rid of her headache. She saw India huddled in a corner with Honey and made her way towards them but before she reached them, India got up and hurried towards one of the Burrs. It was too late for Scarlett to change direction as Honey had seen her.

"Some things don't change, do they Scarlett?" There was a bitter tone to Honey's voice and Scarlett's skin prickled. She was in no mood to scrap with Honey tonight.

"Hmm, I'm not quite sure what you mean," she said innocently, as she took the seat next to Honey.

"Really? You have a husband already and now it seems you have a lover lined up too."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Scarlett snapped, her jaw protruding in anger.

"You know exactly what I mean. Tell me, will you never stop wanting to steal other people's beaux or potential beaux?"

"If you are talking about Mr Picard..."

"Isn't he Jack to you, Scarlett?"

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. How dare Honey make such insinuations? Was this just because Scarlett had stolen Charles from her nearly thirteen years before?

"It's not befitting of you to still harbour a grudge against me after all these years, Honey." What an ironic name!

"It is, when you monopolise the only eligible man in the room and shut out all opportunities for India...or..." Scarlett could almost see the cogs turning in Honey's head. "Or...Fanny...or...Sarah Bonnell." So that was what her gripe was! She had seen Jack as a possible beau for her sister! Oh dear God. She wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. India and Jack? Had Honey really thought that Jack might be interested in sallow, washed up India? Was it Scarlett's fault that Jack had focussed his attentions on her, even if she was married?

"Honey, you are being completely unfair. It isn't my fault that Maybelle arranged the seating plan so that I sat next to him!" Scarlett exclaimed.

"_I _arranged the seating plan, along with India as Maybelle was too busy. You weren't sitting next to him at the beginning of the evening. Someone must have switched name cards."

"If you are suggesting that I..." Scarlett started indignantly.

"We all know your true character, Scarlett. None of this new found charitableness fools anyone. Everyone decent just puts up with you and your pathetic attempts at buying respectability because we know how Melly loved you – though goodness knows why - and because of your son and his Hamilton name. We all know how your husband can no longer bear to be with you. Why, he even has to disappear for months on end before he is able to brace himself to be in your presence again."

"Oh...you..." She wanted to claw at Honey, scratch her eyes out, spit at her, call her all the worst names she could think of but she was cornered. She could do none of those things. So instead, she did the only thing she could do and stood up and walked away. She headed into the anteroom again, where they had set up a bar and asked for a glass of champagne. It was her champagne anyway and it might just help to blot out Honey's hateful comments. Honey was downright mean, and had the same nasty streak that India herself had demonstrated for years and which India had only just recently laid to rest.

She felt the eyes of the whole room on her and trying to escape their stares, she sidled slowly towards a window. She felt miserable.

Suddenly, Rhett was beside her. "I think I'll take that," he said, removing the glass from her hand.

"Rhett," she hissed, "How dare you?"

"How dare I? Very easily. I am trying to protect your new found reputation." He put the glass to his lips and drained the glass.

"Hmmm. I can always get another one." She tried to leave him but his grip on her arm was too firm. "Rhett, please."

"No, I don't please. Not tonight. I think I had better escort you home. You're either drunk or giving a very good imitation of it." She hiccoughed again, her small body juddering, and she felt his strong arm round her waist. "Just try and hold your breath and the hiccoughs might go away." He led her back into the main entrance of the Town Hall and she saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock.

"Rhett, Pork isn't collecting me until midnight. I don't think I can walk home in these slippers." Her body convulsed again and her ribs starting aching.

"I have a horse that I have tied round the corner." He looked at her and she saw his anger disperse to be replaced by his familiar jeering smile. "Or I'll carry you. Your choice."


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed. Imgonewiththewind – I corrected Carreen's name in Chapter 9 – thank you for pointing that out. And you'll find out about the place card swapping in due course. Kathleen, Twilightchick, Guardian Spirit and everyone else – thank you for all your encouragement._

_This chapter was originally double the length – but I have now cut it in to two. This chapter is mostly dialogue. The next chapter will be up shortly._

_As always, I have to declare that I don't own any of the characters (well, maybe Jack) and that they are all the intellectual property of MM and her estate._

Chapter 10

"Don't hold me so tightly. I'll faint," Scarlett said trying to wriggle out of Rhett's arms. She was sitting in front of him, sideways, balancing precariously on the ridge of his dark chocolate leather saddle. They were trotting down West Peachtree Street. She could see the turning into Marietta Street in the distance and beyond that – a few blocks further – was her home.

He laughed softly, the sound muffled by her hair. "In all my years of knowing you, I think you have only fainted once." She felt his chin rest gently on her hair and wondered if he was drinking in the scent of her hair – an aroma that he used to find intoxicating.

"If you are referring to the incident in the horse jail," she said, "You _made_ me faint." She turned to look at him and saw him grin and, despite herself, she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth turning up. She knew she was right even though he had never admitted it. She could still recall him putting his hand over her mouth to stifle her furious screams when she realised he was not going to lend her the money for the taxes on Tara and had merely led her on for entertainment. "Please Rhett," she pleaded. "You don't need to hold me like that. I won't fall off. I feel constricted enough in these stays without you making it worse."

"You could always adopt the Lady Godiva look."

"Lady who?"

Rhett chuckled. "Godiva . A noblewoman of England." She had no idea who he was talking about but she was distracted by a sharp pain that traversed right through her thigh as the horse stumbled on the camber of the street.

"Ouch! Can you please be more careful where you lead the horse. The ridge of the saddle is digging right into me. It's uncomfortable. Rhett, can I sit behind you instead? Or better still, can I just ride home alone? If you were a gentleman, you would walk."

"Absolutely not. To both requests." He pulled his left arm tighter round her and she squealed. She had a feeling that he was enjoying her helplessness. "Scarlett, how much did you have to drink tonight?" She didn't answer and instead tried to shift her body away from him. "I saw you consume at least three glasses of wine – _and_ I missed the champagne reception."

"I am not quite sure that you have any right to criticise me about anything," she snapped.

"I'm not criticising you. Yet. I just asked you a simple question."

"I don't have to answer to you anymore." Had she really appeared that drunk? She hadn't felt drunk, maybe just slightly tipsy towards the end.

"You've never answered to me, Scarlett." And then, though she couldn't be sure because the wind was gently whistling through her hair, she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, "Maybe that was part of our problem."

"What did you say?"

He cleared his throat. "Nothing, my dear."

She turned round to look at him but he didn't return her stare – instead he was focussing on the street that stretched ahead. They were now at the bottom of Marietta Street which would become Peachtree Street in due course and it was eerily quiet – in the ten minutes they had been riding, they had only passed a handful of people. Atlanta was asleep or at least tucking up for the night. Suddenly, Scarlett felt her slipper work its way loose. The upwards and downwards movement on the horse and the accompanying jiggling was making it impossible for her to grip it. "Rhett, I think my slipper is..." and before she could get the words out of her mouth, the slipper had fallen off. "Ooops," and she started laughing. "Don't worry about that silly shoe – they're too big for me anyway and I won't be wearing them again."

Rhett brought the horse to a halt and dismounted to retrieve the silken object. "I don't want your Prince Charming finding the shoe and then come searching for you. At least not until I have left Atlanta."

"And who might my Prince Charming be?" she asked with a hint of coquettishness.

"You know who I am referring to." He grabbed her other foot that was still clad with a slipper and pulled it off before he handed the pair up to her. She took them and rested them in her lap.

"Thank you," she said. Then he unbuttoned his jacket and removed it and handed it up to her too. "Here, take this. If your feet are indicative of how cold the rest of your body is, you need this."

"I'm fine, really..."

"Take it," he insisted and thrust it into her hands. She complied. It had the remnants of his cologne on it and cigar smoke. "I have no idea why women think it is perfectly appropriate to go out dressed in nothing but flimsy chiffon or silk on a cold spring evening. Really, Scarlett, your vanity gets the better of your commonsense."

"Well, I didn't expect to be returning home on horseback..." she smarted.

"And you wouldn't have needed to if you had limited your intake of wine." Her jaw stiffened in outrage but she didn't respond. She just wanted to get home.

He climbed back on to the horse and re-took the reins. They sat in silence. Scarlett couldn't ever recall them riding on horseback together – it might have been romantic if it was with someone other than her husband.

"Did you enjoy tonight?" he asked after a while.

"Until you turned up, yes."

She felt his body shake with soft laughter. "You're no good at lying, Scarlett. I've always told you that." And then he leaned in towards her and whispered, "I think you liked it even more when I turned up." She shot him an angry look, her eyes wide with disbelief but she couldn't work out what he was thinking. Was he referring to his assault on her under the table or had he become aware of her immediately relaxing as soon as he had sat down next to her?

"No, I didn't. I was having a fine time before you joined us at the table. And at the end, you just seemed so angry with me. I was only trying to have some fun."

"I don't mind you having fun Scarlett and I certainly don't care who you flirt with but you need to be more discreet. And if you ever decide to have an affair..."

"I would never have an affair, Rhett," she protested loudly, turning to face him. He raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't!"

"Maybe that's true _now_. After all, I suppose carrying on with someone clandestinely for twelve years or more would exhaust most people."

"If you are referring to Ashley, you know I never..."

"I forgot how you define unfaithfulness," he said coolly. She looked at him, hoping to read something in his black eyes and she thought she saw something – hurt? Regret? It was something she had seen before but had never bothered to try to determine what it represented.

Silence again fell between them before she broke it. "People were mean to me tonight, Rhett," she volunteered and then immediately wished she hadn't said anything.

"How so? It didn't seem like that from where I was sitting. That Louisianan ruffian was paying you plenty of attention. I can't imagine him being mean to you."

"You know I don't mean Jack..."

"Who then? Honey?"

He had always been so perceptive – not just about her but about everyone. It was one of his more annoying characteristics because she had never been able to hide anything from him.

"Yes, Honey," she said reluctantly. "How did you know?"

"I had the misfortune to have to sit opposite her for most of dinner and her rather disagreeable face is rather readable. Just like yours." He then leaned in towards her and with a softer tone said. "Ignore her, darling. She's just a spiteful, jealous woman who has nothing better in her life to do than belittle others and gossip about things that she knows nothing about. She'll be back in Yankee territory soon enough and you won't have to see her for at least a year or so. It's a shame that your son shares some blood with her although I don't see any of the Wilkes' traits manifesting themselves in Wade just yet. Thank God."

"I tried to ignore her but..." At the recollection of her accusations, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. There might have been an element of truth in some of what she had said.

"Scarlett, you've got thick skin. She can barely have pricked the surface. How did she upset you?"

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled. She definitely didn't want to start discussing Jack with her husband or repeat Honey's allegations about the Butler marriage.

"It does matter if you are still contemplating what she said. You don't usually take things so to heart." She felt his hand gently brush some loose strands of hair behind her left ear and it reminded her of how he used to do that when she wanted his comfort. "Tell me, Scarlett."

She hesitated. In the past, she would have gladly unburdened herself to Rhett but now she wasn't so sure she could trust him.

Sensing her unease, Rhett said, "If it's any consolation, Maybelle is definitely one of your fans. She couldn't stop talking about you when we were dancing."

"What did she say?" she asked, her interest piqued.

"I'm not sure I should tell you. You have a habit of allowing any praise to go straight to your head." She dug her elbow into his waist.

He laughed again and Scarlett smiled. Everything was so much nicer when they were civil to each other. "I need cheering up. Please tell me," she said.

"Apart from telling me what a beautiful and engaging wife I have," he said, winking at her, "She also told me all the charitable deeds you have done over the last few months and how the success of the Christmas fete was entirely down to you. I think she even referred to you as "kind" – not an adjective I expected a member of the Old Guard to apply to you." If she ignored his last sentence, there seemed to be faint admiration buried within his words.

"And are you impressed?"

"No, because I know your real motive."

She glared at him and her eyes flashed with indignation. "Every time I think you are being nice to me, you suddenly come out with something horrid and nasty." He grinned again at her.

"I am only being truthful, Scarlett. I know you too well." She didn't respond and instead turned back round to face the direction of the horse. Then, as if he sensed that he had perhaps gone too far, he added, "But it's refreshing to see you socialising with people more worthy of your time. I never could stand most of the trash you invited in to our home."

"I don't see them anymore," she said quietly. "Anyway, you introduced me to most of them. They were your friends first."

"No, they were never my friends. At best, they were acquaintances whom I put up with as they had a purpose to serve." She thought about what he had said and realised that he was speaking truthfully. Certainly, in the latter stages of their marriage, he had chosen the company of their older friends and tried to limit social intercourse with the newer families to pleasantries exchanged in the street.

They were now on Peachtree Street and she could see their house, ablaze with lights in the near distance. She yawned and rubbed her eyes - the idea of bed was suddenly very alluring. She had had a long day and the alcohol she had consumed was making her tired.

Rhett pulled the horse up outside their mansion and jumped down. He grabbed Scarlett from underneath her arms and swung her down.

"Do you want me to carry you in, Mrs Butler?" he asked, looking down at her shoeless feet, his sardonic frown once more etched on his face.

"No thank you. I'm perfectly capable of walking." She started towards the front door, doing her best to ignore the sharp stones that she felt piercing her stockinged feet. Pork opened the door.

"Miss Scarlett, Ahs jest comin' ter de hall."

"Well, my husband decided to bring me home instead." A faint smile crossed Pork's lips as he looked at Scarlett and then looked back into the street and saw his master.

"Mister Rhett, Ahs tak de horse ter de stables. Lemme, suh." He ran out of the front door, down the path and opened the gate and took the reins from Rhett. Scarlett looked at them and thought she saw Rhett hesitate – perhaps he had made commitments to be somewhere else tonight. Then, she saw his broad shoulders shrug and heard him say thank you before he followed her up the path and into the house. He closed the door behind them. Scarlett started walking up the stairs.

"Have a drink with me, Scarlett. I'll make you some hot lemon if you like." It was a command rather than a request.

"No thank you," she said without bothering to turn round. "I just want to get out of this dress...this corset...and go to bed. Would you mind asking Pork to fetch Mammy?"

She heard Rhett's footsteps behind her and then he was beside her, their steps aligned as they walked up to their bedrooms. "You seemed upset at the ball and it isn't just about whatever Honey said."

She stopped and looked at him. "Well, darling husband, I wasn't best pleased that you made me leave so early."

He shook his head slowly. "I think you wanted an excuse to leave. I think you were looking for an excuse to leave and I gave you one. What was wrong? You used to love balls."

"That was in another lifetime," she said. "Before everything...happened..."

He placed a hand gently on her back. "Tell me Scarlett." She stopped and looked at him. It had been so long since she had confided in him. She had missed his perspective and advice, and to some extent, his brutal candour. Along with Melly, he had always made her feel better about things but unlike Melly, she had never tried to shield him from the truth. There had always been something very refreshing about being able to unburden herself on him. His eyes were kind and he looked sincere but she had not trusted him with her confidences for ever so long. And then she remembered the last time she had confided in him, when she told him she loved him only for him to tell her he didn't give a damn and was leaving her.

She carried on walking up the stairs with him as her shadow. "Since when did you care?" she finally said as she reached the landing.

"Just because I don't love you, it doesn't mean I have stopped caring about you." Oh, she wished he wouldn't keep on reminding her that he didn't love her. She knew that and his actions had borne that out.

"Please don't keep on saying that. It hurts me every time you remind me of it," she said with a frankness that took him by surprise. They were on the landing now and he was looking at her, his face smooth and indiscernible. And then she asked him the question that had been troubling her for the last couple of hours. "Why did you have to dance with Maybelle, Rhett?"

"So that's what all this is about. I wondered as much. Why did I dance with Maybelle? I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Not to me it isn't," she said quietly. "I mean, I don't understand why you would come to the ball and then make a spectacle of me like that." Rhett sighed in frustration and then ran his hand through his thick black hair that had started greying at the temples.

"You were never one for introspection, Scarlett," he said.

"Tell me, Rhett," she asked softly. "Enlighten me. Why Maybelle? Why couldn't you have danced with me or at least allowed me to lead the dance. I felt humiliated as though we were playing out our... war in front of all our old friends."

Surprise registered on his face. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, Scarlett. I'm sorry if you took it that way."

"Why couldn't you have just played our game a bit longer? Why Maybelle?" she repeated.

"Oh Scarlett," he said, sounding exasperated. "It didn't have to be Maybelle but it couldn't have been you. Darling, I thought it was plain. If you had led the dance with that Jack Picard then you would have been the talk of Atlanta for the next six months."

"And I guess it's alright for you to waltz the night away with Maybelle? The last time I checked, she wasn't your wife."

He looked at his accuser. "Scarlett, I didn't do it to spite you." She looked into his face and it was devoid of malice and mischief. "I did it because I wanted to protect your reputation. I thought I told you that." As he spoke she vaguely recalled him muttering something along those lines when he had gone to collect his dance partner from the stage. "I was worried that you were too... erm...tipsy... to waltz properly and I didn't want all that attention on you that would come with leading a dance. You seemed to be stumbling rather than walking. I also didn't want Jack Picard dancing with you without me being occupied first." As if reading her mind, he added, "Not because I begrudge him dancing with you but because of how it would have looked. Or might have looked. You know how fickle the old battleaxes are in Atlanta and I saw how he only had eyes for you all through dinner." He cupped her chin in his hand as he brought her eyes up to face him. "You've obviously made all this effort with everyone and managed to keep your nose out of scandal for the last few months, only to risk undoing it all because your vanity got the better of you." Her hair had worked its way loose and as he spoke a couple of tendrils fell into her eyes. Scarlett pushed them back with an air of vulnerability. "In any event, you have had the opportunity to be a belle of the ball on so many occasions. Don't you think it should be shared around from time to time? I wouldn't have thought that you would mind Maybelle leading a dance for once. She's very fond of you."

He dropped his hand from her face and Scarlett shook her head lightly. "No. I guess not. When you explain it like that, I don't mind. Not really." And then she added, "Well, I guess I might mind a bit but only a _little_ bit," she said grinning.

He smiled warmly at her. "You wouldn't be Scarlett O'Hara if you didn't mind a bit." She let out a low laugh. He was right.

She looked at the door to her bedroom and was about to take her leave from him but then he continued, his eyes looking at something in the far off distance. "It did bring back a lovely memory – that dance at the bazaar when we met for the second time." So he had thought back to that night too. "And, no one dances as exquisitely as you do." Where was he going with all these compliments?

"Rhett, I've always wondered – did you know I was going to be at that bazaar?"

He started laughing softly, but not in a nasty way. "You'll never stop fishing for compliments, even if you have to look back years to find them."

"Well, I was just curious..."

"It's so long ago, Scarlett. Maybe I sensed that you might be there but I don't believe you knew you were going to be there until the last minute, did you? But I had my spies." She opened her mouth to say something but then shut it. She sensed that it might spoil the moment – whatever moment they were having. He moved closer, close enough that, even with dim light, for once she could make out his dilated pupils from the irises in which they swam. He was studying her and she was looking at him, returning the intensity of his stare and briefly, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Oh dear Lord, what was happening between them. One minute they were at war and then the next...was it all just some sort of test? And then, to her surprise, she found herself hoping that he would take her in his arms and repeat his actions from the night before. She felt her heart race and she hardly dare breathe in case she somehow ruined it all. No man had ever made her feel like he did, no man had ever made her feel close to how he did – one minute she hated him with so much passion and the next, she just wanted to be in his arms, feeling and returning his feverish kisses...she had to somehow get a grip...

"Good night, Rhett," she said finally, breaking the trance. He had always had an unnerving habit of being able to read her and she certainly didn't want him to read any of the thoughts she had been entertaining a moment ago. She leaned in to kiss him good night – a chaste peck on his cheek – but then thought better of it. So she just turned on her heels and started walking towards her bedroom.

"Good night, Scarlett." She had a desire to turn around and see if he was still watching her but she resisted the urge. Finally she heard his footsteps move in the opposite direction, down the hallway and just as she entered her bedroom, she heard him open the door to his and then in synchronisation, they both closed their doors.


	11. Chapter 11

_All of you readers and reviewers are amazing and spur me on to continue – even when I have moments of writer's block! This chapter took longer than I had originally thought. I wrote it last weekend but then scrapped most of it because I was worried that I hadn't got the tone right. I hope I have now._

_Pitty – thank you for your encouragement on this. And to all of you other reviewers – Guardian Spirit (you get what I think you wanted here), Iambq (you are always so kind to review), Jessiemae, Julia, Aries, ImGWTW and the rest – a huge thank you._

_Well, of course I don't own these characters – the Stephen Mitchell estate does._

Chapter 11

Once Scarlett was in the safety of her room, she started breathing more easily but she felt Rhett all around her.

Over the last few months, particularly since Christmas when she felt he had so spectacularly disappointed her and the children, slowly, he had stopped pervading her every thought. She had still thought of him but whereas before it had been with a deep sense of bewilderment and loss, more recently such sentiments had become mixed with pockets of outrage and incredulity. How dare he just leave her and the children and vanish! How dare he not even be respectful enough to the memory of Melly to attend her wake and rather, flee, moments after her coffin had been covered with Oakland earth! And how could he not even contact the children over the festive season? It was easy enough for him to roam the world, as if he had no responsibilities but he did – not to her, she didn't need him to feel responsible for her thank you very much, but he owed her children something. He was the only father they had known and she felt let down on their behalf.

And now, confusion reigned in her mind! Now that she was alone and was able to take stock of the last twenty four hours, she felt uneasy. She had willingly, gladly even, allowed him to share her bed last night and just now, for a few seconds she had been silently hoping he would kiss her! Oh dear God, what had gotten into her? She hadn't forgiven him but her resolve to stay mad with him was weakening.

She knew she should be angry with him – and she was! – but the Rhett that had returned three days ago had lost some of the bitterness that, after Bonnie had died, had seeped from his every pore. His hard edges had been eroded and, whilst he was not the same man who had courted her during the war years with his jeering but good natured commentary, he was closer to that man than he was to the acerbic drunk who had been ubiquitous in the dying days of their marriage.

She sighed before she removed the onyx ear bobs she had been wearing and undid the clasp to the matching drop necklace. They had both been gifts from Rhett. After he had told her he had loved her on that mist filled night of Melly's death, she had had plenty of time to reflect on their relationship and had started wondering if all the gifts he had given her had been attempts at buying her love. Was that what he had meant when he had said that he always got paid? Was her loving him his expected payment for the hundreds – or, more likely, thousands - of dollars of presents he had bestowed on her? He had showered her with gifts over the years, starting with bonbons from Nassau, precious needles, scarce hairpins and haircombs during her early tenure as Charlie's widow, before progressing to the dark-green taffeta and watered silk Parisian bonnet and finally culminating with beautiful jewellery, exquisite gowns, expensive slippers, when she was his wife and he was no longer restricted by the rules of society. And then it had all abruptly stopped – well, not exactly, just their frequency had tapered off, and she knew it had commenced from the very day she had issued her edict that he was no longer welcome in her bed. Oh, what a first class fool she had been, she thought, as a flush of shame and regret washed over her. There had been very few things she regretted in her life – most of what she had done and which had gone against the teaching of Ellen and the church had been done for her very survival, and that of her family - but banishing Rhett from her bedroom had been one.

She slumped into her chair and looked into the mirror. Her hair had all but collapsed from the elaborate up-do she had rushed to style earlier in the evening. She took out the pins and when the last one was removed, she picked up her hairbrush and started brushing her hair, mindlessly, until it crackled with static electricity.

Then, she went over to her bed to pull the bell for Mammy. She looked at the clock – it was almost midnight and no doubt Mammy had gone to bed hours ago. She hated getting Mammy out of her bed to help her undress at such a late hour. In the old days, Rhett would have helped her but now…

God, she couldn't get that man out of her mind! Suddenly, she remembered how he had touched her under the table. Why had he done that? Because he knew he could? Because he still desired her in that way he desired other women? Or had he done it to remind her of the night they had just spent together? She should have felt violated, appalled but she remembered the shivers that had gone up her spine and how the small hairs on her naked arms had stood up. Oh, she should feel ashamed.

As she thought of him again, she wished she had taken him up on his suggestion of a nightcap but the moment had passed. There had been something in his eyes that hinted at…desire? Could it be that he was still attracted to her, even if he didn't love her? She glanced around her bedroom as though she was looking for an answer and then she spied his jacket. She still had it from when he had given it to her on the ride home. The corners of her mouth started to curl upwards as a plan started forming in her head. Perhaps she could go to his bedroom on the pretext of returning the jacket to him. And then perhaps, she could ask him if he could unlace her – she needed someone to unlace her and he had already demonstrated many times before how easily he found it to get a woman out of her corset. And then perhaps… She stopped the train of consciousness. What was she thinking?

She walked over to the door and leaned towards it, her ear cocked, to see if she could hear any movement in the house. It was silent, the silence only broken by her breathing. He had either left the house immediately on returning to his room, or he was still here – only yards from where she now stood. She bit her lip as she thought about what to do and waited.

She continued to stand by the door and five minutes passed before stiffness started creeping into her joints. She needed to get to bed – or at least get undressed and if she was going to call Mammy, she had to do it now or she would have to sleep in her corset. She looked across her bed chamber and remembered an old brandy bottle she had kept hidden in a hat box underneath her bed. She hadn't touched that bottle for a year or so and couldn't recall if there was even any left – or indeed if it still existed, because Mammy might have found it and disposed of it. She went over to her bed and dropped to her hands and knees and pulled the striped box out. She opened it. A quarter of the bottled contents remained. She unscrewed it and took a gulp directly from the bottle – cringing at her uncouth but necessary antics. She sat for a couple of minutes but felt no effect so she took another swig and grimaced. This time, she felt a familiar numb, fuzzy feeling and her stomach started churning. She hurriedly took off her evening gown, in her clumsiness tearing it slightly at the shoulder, and then grabbed her dark green velvet wrapper and put it on, her hands shaking as she did up the jade buttons. Fortified by the alcohol, she picked up the jacket, opened her door, crept out and walked down the hallway towards Rhett's room. She could feel her heart beating so wildly that she was sure he would be able to hear it if he stood close enough.

When she reached his room, she stood for a few moments, motionless, trying to rationalise what she was doing. I just need to return his jacket and to get help undressing, she kept saying in her mind but she had always been a bad liar and was struggling to lie to herself. Then, with the old strength and nerve she had always relied on, she raised her hand and gently knocked at the door. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. There was silence and as she strained to hear signs of his presence behind the thick oak door, all she was conscious of was the subtle ticking of the clock that hung on the landing.

It was unnaturally still. The candles in the hallway didn't even flicker and she felt all alone. Perhaps he had already gone out for the evening and she thought back to his hesitation about handing the horse back to Pork. She had a feeling that her husband rarely slept alone these days and she doubted that tonight would be any different. Well, it's probably for the best, she thought, as doubt flooded her. He would almost certainly misconstrue her actions.

She was about to turn around and leave when she heard footsteps on the other side. So he was still here, she thought and she wondered what state he would be in. She took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever jeering comments he might make. Oh, if only she hadn't taken that trip down the memory lane of what might have been a few moments ago, she wouldn't be standing here.

The door unlocked. "Scarlett?" he asked, taking in the emerald green vision of his wife. He was holding a cigar, an ochre hue smouldering from the embers, and had already loosened his cravat so that the ends straddled his collar.

"I..." she stammered, suddenly unsure why she had willingly come to his room but then she clenched her fist tightly and remembered what she was holding. "I...just remembered that I hadn't given you back your jacket. Here you are." She held it outstretched, her arm just going over the threshold.

He took it from her. "Thank you."

"I wasn't sure if you needed it tonight...I mean, I wasn't sure if you were going out again."

"Clothes are one thing I am never short of. But thank you, anyway." He stood staring at her and for a moment she held his gaze.

"Rhett, I..." Oh God, the reality had neutered the effects of the brandy. She felt stone cold sober and was frantically remembering what she had been trying to achieve in this late night visitation. "Well, good night." She averted her eyes, conscious that he could probably see the effects of her embarrassment, and started walking away.

"Scarlett," he called gently. "I can see that you haven't undressed properly. Did you want me to unlace you, rather than wake Mammy? It is rather late and Mammy is not the spring chicken she once was." She turned to look at him.

"Why..." His perceptiveness, though uncanny, unnerved her.

"I promise to keep my hands under control," he said and smiled at her.

She ignored the taunting look in his eyes. "Thank you, Rhett," she said, trying to sound as matter of fact as possible. "If you could, I'd appreciate it." She felt him willing her to look at him but she didn't obey. "I haven't been up this late in a while and I'd rather not get Mammy out of bed," she mumbled.

She stood there awkwardly, not moving. He looked at her, his eyebrows going up in their familiar mocking crescents. "Do you want me to unlace you in the hallway, or would you care to step into the lion's den?"

"I'll step in to your room. You never know who is watching you in this house."

"Indeed. And we don't want to scandalise the servants or traumatise the children." She walked in to his room and stood by a small occasional table – a table that had a couple of pictures of Bonnie and one of all three of the children. She had never noticed them before and she wondered when he had had them done. Her youngest daughter didn't look much older than she had been when she had died. Her forever young daughter.

He shut the door quietly, threw his jacket on a chair and put his cigar down. She saw a couple of books splayed open – some Shakespeare sonnets and what looked like a play, with a name and by a writer she had never heard of - the Misanthrope or something. Her brain couldn't quite translate the foreign title into a word she could pronounce.

She untied and then started unbuttoning her wrapper and then rested it on the table, so that she was standing only in her undergarments. When they had shared a bedroom, he had always enjoyed watching her undress and had told her on more than one occasion that he liked her best dressed only in her chemise as he could more easily see the contours of her body. She had blushed beetroot when he had first made the comment but he had reassured her, in between his amorous kisses, that she had no reason to be embarrassed and gradually she had relaxed.

He came up behind her and she caught her long hair in her hand and moved it away from her back. She then felt his hands go to the bottom of the corset and he started unlacing her. Within seconds she was free from its constricting presence. "Thank you, Rhett," she said, as she held the corset against her, shielding herself from his prying eyes.

"You're welcome. I suspect your granddaughters won't have to put up with such ridiculous contraptions."

"Maybe," she said. He stooped to pick up her gown that had slid off the table and was lying in a crushed heap on the floor and handed it to her. "Thank you," she murmured. She suddenly felt silly standing in his room, in such a state of undress and hastily put her wrapper back on. She was failing miserably as a seductress. What had she been trying to achieve? Last night was just a one-off – she had known it had meant nothing to him just as it had really meant nothing to her. Hadn't she dried her eyes and moved on from this man months ago?

But for some reason she stood rooted to the spot and didn't move, even when he picked up his cigar again and inhaled the tobacco. "Maybelle was right about one thing, Scarlett. You did look beautiful tonight. But I suspect you don't need me to tell you that." He went over to the table and picked up the volume of Shakespeare that she had obviously disturbed him from. Was this her cue to leave?

"Rhett, how much longer are you going to stay?" He looked up from his book as if he was trying to decipher the true meaning of her question.

"Until after Tuesday at least – I want to see that Simpson delivers on the horse. I would have insisted we take him back with us today but I didn't want to tire Wade out."

"I see," she said but she didn't really. He was as evasive as ever. "So you'll probably leave next week then?" She thought she saw him hesitate but Rhett was not one to be indecisive.

"Yes," he said, simply.

"Well, good night." She moved towards his door, slowly, wishing that somehow she could change the course of their history.

"Scarlett," he called out quietly. "Do you care to join me for a drink?" he asked, repeating his invitation from earlier in the evening. "I have just opened a bottle of burgundy that I picked up in Paris over Christmas."

Scarlett laughed softly. "Haven't I already had too much to drink tonight, Captain Butler?"

"In public, yes. What you do privately is no one's business." He poured a glass and handed it to her. "Yes or no?"

She took it. "I guess one glass won't hurt." She stood hovering near him unsure what the exact protocol was in these situations. He took the bottle and his own glass to the window and sat down in one of the chairs that overlooked the garden. She copied him.

"Paris? So you were there for Christmas?"

"Briefly, yes."

"Where else did you travel to?"

"Nice and then I spent some time in Barcelona. I went to London too and ended up in Dublin for a couple of weeks. And then when I got back to America, I went to New Orleans." He took a large sip from his wine glass and Scarlett briefly wondered if his old ward was still there. "And then, I went up to Charleston to visit my mother. We took a short trip to Savannah."

"How is your mother?"

"In remarkably good health, and no longer frantic to marry Rosemary off to any suitor."

"Did you see my aunts?" Scarlett asked.

"I saw your aunt Eulalie on a couple of occasions, yes."

"Oh, I see…" Scarlett took a sip from her glass, the red wine staining her lips. "You didn't…I mean…she didn't…" She stopped, not entirely sure how to broach this subject. He raised his eyebrows and she couldn't quite determine if he was challenging her to stop or to continue.

Her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied. "Never mind," she mumbled and then, because the alcohol had loosened her tongue, she added as an aside, "I guess I don't need to know."

He smiled, but his eyes were kind. "Your reputation is still intact. I didn't mention anything about our…er…situation…to your aunt." Her shoulders visibly relaxed.

"And to your mother?"

He didn't answer but instead reached for the bottle and poured himself some more wine. His evasiveness didn't go unnoticed.

"So, you've said something to your mother," she smarted. Any relief she felt a moment ago, vanished. If he had told his mother then, almost certainly it would get out. If their separation had remained secret, then she could at least pretend to herself and the outside world that everything was fine.

"Scarlett…I…" but for once her husband was lost for words.

"It's alright," she said with a hint of defeat in her voice. "I can live with her knowing."

He sighed. "I didn't tell her everything. Just alluded to some…difficulties…"

"I just know it will get back to Aunt Eulalie and then Aunt Pauline and then Suellen and Carreen and then…"

"I didn't think you cared what people thought," he said softly.

"I care about something like this!" she replied brusquely.

She felt her eyes slowly fill with tears and she couldn't determine whether it was because of the gossip that would emanate from her husband's careless talk or because of the realisation her marriage was truly over. If he had started talking of their situation then it would only be a short time before he would serve her with divorce papers! She needed to put some space between them and so got up from the chair and walked over to the table. Absentmindedly, she picked up one of the photos of Bonnie and ran her finger round the outline of her daughter's face.

"I never saw these before," she said, finally.

"I had them done shortly before…" He cleared his throat and she heard his footsteps before she felt his hand lie gently on the small of her back. "I had them done in August last year. When you were in Marietta one weekend. I had put them away after…well, one of the servants must have found them and put them out again."

"She looks so…happy in them…" Scarlett said, and as she felt a tear finally fall, she reached up with her forefinger to wipe it away. "You were right, Rhett, maybe if she hadn't died…"she stumbled, "Maybe if she hadn't died, then we could have somehow fixed things between us."

Out of the corner of her blurred vision she thought she saw him wince at her words. "I think things were too broken, Scarlett."

"But you wouldn't have left! I know you wouldn't have because you wouldn't have left her! And perhaps, over time, after I realised…well, we could have at least resurrected our relationship to what it had been." And then, because the alcohol was suddenly making her head all foggy and she was forgetting who she was speaking to, she murmured. "You never even gave me a chance."

"Let's not go down that road again. It's over," he said quietly.

Her head jerked upwards at his words but his eyes were empty. He never wanted to discuss anything! Was this how he was intent on living his life? She might never have been very good at recognising her true feelings but she had never been afraid to tell him – or even Ashley – what she thought she felt. He went back over to his chair and after a while she followed, her irritation with him cooling with each step she took towards him. She wasn't ready to retire for bed just yet.

"Did you enjoy seeing everyone at the ball? You made quite an entrance."

He laughed lightly. "It's interesting to see how no one changes. I could have been gone for six years, rather than six months and I am sure that, absent a few more wrinkles and grey hairs, everyone would have still been the same. Your uncle Henry is still as cantankerous as ever but it is amusing to see him and his fellow stooges, Dr Meade and Mr Merriweather, play out their disagreements with each other." As he raised his glass to his lips, he caught her eye. "I wonder if I'll ever have that camaraderie with people when I am their age."

"You'll only find out if you stay in one place long enough," Scarlett said and she thought she saw his dark eyes glisten with faint admiration.

"Very true. These old bones have to stop somewhere though. And soon. I'm getting too old to continue living as a nomad."

"As a nomad?"

"I need to make a home, Scarlett. Put some roots down is how people typically describe it."

"Where do you think that might be?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, knowing that anything less than him answering "Atlanta" would likely pierce her heart. He looked at her, as though he knew the true intent behind her question and then he shrugged.

"Who knows? I'm not sure I could live in Charleston again. I don't mind abiding by some social rules but I think I would suffocate if I made it my permanent home." She felt relief at his answer. So, he hadn't found his grace and peace there.

"We're the opposite then. I think when Wade and Ella have left home, I might travel too. I have always wanted to go to Europe – Paris particularly. But I suspect I'll return to Tara eventually – if I haven't murdered Suellen before then."

Rhett laughed and Scarlett smiled. They both sat sipping their wine in silence and then, as Scarlett drained her glass, she started to wonder if she had overstayed her welcome. The alcohol had given her a nice warm feeling and she felt sleep beckoning her. She stood up but as she did, Rhett stood up too. "I was just going to offer you another glass," he said, looking deeply into her flashing emerald eyes that had mesmerised him for so many years.

"Don't you think I had better get back to my own bedroom?" She heard her voice quiver with anticipation. He was standing so close to her that only a sheet of paper would have been able to pass between them. His eyes were going over her, as they had done in a bygone era, and she suddenly remembered her reason for making this moonlit sojourn. She knew that he didn't love her but he obviously still desired her. She had been amongst enough men in her life to know that thirsty look. And at that moment, she had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted her husband. She wanted him to kiss her, to jolt her body into feeling again – just as he had done last night. If she didn't do something, the moment would go. And so, trembling with trepidation and excitement and knowing that she would be humiliated if she was misreading the signs, she reached up and touched his face with the palm of her hand.

"I can stay…I mean… if you want me to," she said, her eyes just as hungry as his. And then he took her in his arms, his hands feeling the slenderness of her body, encircling her waist as he placed his mouth on hers. Neither of them said anything as his lips travelled down her neck, towards the opening of her wrapper. His hands started undoing the buttons that were the colour of her eyes and before she could gather her senses, she was disrobed, standing in only her chemise and drawers.

He continued his assault on her body and over his shoulder, as she had a rush of intense feeling towards her errant husband, she silently mouthed "I love you," over and over again before she was stopped as he pulled her face back to his.

She wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her up, his lips still locked on hers. "This is probably a mistake," she heard him say, interspersed with kisses.

"Probably," she murmured. And it probably was but she didn't care. He was her husband and she knew that whatever she had done over the months to try to convince herself otherwise and however much she had hated him over the years, this man was the only person who she had ever really loved and could ever really love properly.

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I_ know that some of my commentators have felt that I have maybe rushed the intimacy – and you may be right (Nostalgia – you made me stop and think about this chapter and also made me re-write most of it so thank you) – but I have always thought that, even if he doesn't love her, he would still desire her. He is Rhett Butler after all! And I think that Scarlett has been in such a numb state – existing but not really living – since Bonnie died (obviously compounded by Melly's death and her realisation that she has lost Rhett) that she wants to feel something – even if she might end up getting hurt. _

_PS I am not sure this would have happened without the alcohol._


	12. Chapter 12

_Apologies in advance for not getting Mammy's dialect right. I tried! I reckon I am about halfway through with this so bear with me. Again – this chapter might be a bit slow but I think it needs to be told. Sometimes you have good chapters, sometimes they are mediocre. Happy reading!_

Chapter 12

When she awoke, it took her a moment to realise where she was. She had rarely gone in to Rhett's bedroom much less slept there and she was slightly disorientated. Everything was so…foreign…and it had the lingering smell of stale cigar smoke rather than the soft verbena scent that permeated her bedroom. Her head was spinning and as she raised it from the feather pillow, she became aware of the powerful ache that cut like a knife between her eyes. She tentatively felt across the side of the bed and it was empty. She was alone. It was only just after dawn and he had already left. Oh dear God, what had they done?

From the cracks in the heavy silk drapes, she could see the sun starting to wake up and she realised she needed to get back to her bedroom. Quickly. Before anyone noticed her absence or, worse still, found her in here. Hastily, she put on her chemise and then grabbed the remaining parts of her garb and opened the door. She peered out and, after checking that no one was around, ran back barefoot to her bedroom.

Once inside, she threw her clothes on a chair, put on a fresh cotton nightgown and clambered into her own bed. She pulled the covers high up around her and only then did she start to relax.

Despite her pounding headache, she fell asleep. When she awoke for the second time, her headache had progressed to a dull ache but she was aware of a sour taste in her mouth as well as feeling thirsty. She turned over on her side, welcoming the coolness of the sheets, and looked at the clock that sat by her bedside. It was almost one o'clock! She sat bolt upright and got out of bed and pulled the drapes back to check that her eyes hadn't been deceiving her. The sunlight streamed in and she squinted. It really was early afternoon which meant she had already broken her promise to Ella and Wade to spend the day with them. Guiltily, she looked out onto the garden to see if she could see them but she only saw the croquet set that Rhett had brought back from England just before they got married, abandoned on the lawn. The children must have been playing with it but they were nowhere in sight.

She went back to her bed and pulled the bell for Mammy. A few minutes later, the familiar, black figure knocked on her door and waddled in, holding a tray of steaming food and a large coffee pot.

"Ahs dun bring yo yer breakfast, Miss Scarlett. Ahs figured yer need to eat. But mebee yo wan lunch."

"Breakfast is fine, Mammy. Thank you. Just put it near the window. I think I might eat outside today." Mammy did as she was told and then shook her head as she started picking up Scarlett's clothes that she had so carelessly discarded. Then, she saw the ripped evening gown.

"Now, Miss Scarlett, whut has yo dun here?" she said, holding it up, its tear visible. "Ahs specs Dilcey kin fix it but…" She shook her head again. She came closer to Scarlett and as she did Scarlett saw her wrinkle her nose. She must reek of alcohol! Was the whole night as shameful as she was now beginning to recall? What had gotten into her?

Scarlett saw Mammy go into her closet with her clothes and when she came back out she asked where the children were.

"Mist' Rhett took dem out fer a picnic dis mornin'. Master Wade wanted ter use his new saddle an' so dey tek de horses to the Chattahoochee river." And then because she knew her mistress would ask if she didn't tell her, she added, "Miss Ella wuz sat in front of Mist' Rhett. She aint tek her own pony." Ella hadn't ridden alone since Bonnie's accident and they had only kept Ella's pony because Ella was so attached to him.

"Did Mister Rhett say when he would be back?" Scarlett asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Mammy's large black eyes looked at Scarlett with a hint of disapproval.

"No'm. But dey tek enuff fud dat dey culd be away fer a week." If Rhett had been on his own, she wouldn't have put it past him.

Scarlett suddenly felt a wave of nausea rush over her and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. She swallowed hard and quickly several times before her stomach settled and the feeling passed. If Mammy's eyesight was any better, she would see how rotten she was feeling.

"Well, Mammy, can you leave me now and then come back in half an hour to help me get dressed. I think I might go and call on Miss Maybelle to thank her for the ball."

"Before yo go anywhere, Miss Scarlett, yo's need a baf. Yer need to smell of lavender not a woman of de nigh! Wen Ah come bak, Ah's run yer baf."

"Maybe," Scarlett answered, ignoring the insult as Mammy left her. Her stomach hurt now as well as her head and she had lost her appetite. If she tried to eat anything, she was pretty sure she would feel worse. She had drunk far too much wine last night and that last glass with Rhett...

Had Rhett been wanting to get her drunk? She had definitely been sober when they arrived home – well, almost – and he was the one that suggested the drink. Both times. His invitation had confused her and she certainly could do without being any more confused than she already was when it came to him. She felt herself blush as she remembered her brazen behaviour. She had practically offered herself to Rhett! "But we're married," she thought, trying to justify her behaviour, even though neither of them had adhered to the rules of wedlock for years. She tried to think back to those last moments before he had carried her to his bed. She had reached up to kiss him hadn't she? Or had he been the one to first place his lips on hers? She remembered feeling his arms go round her waist but was it before she touched him? Damn! She couldn't remember and she wanted to desperately. She didn't want him to think that she had been sitting here in Atlanta these last few months just ticking off the days until his return.

She had only once before initiated any intimacy and that was on the last night of their honeymoon when Rhett had taken her to the most expensive restaurant in New Orleans and she had drank copious amounts of champagne. When they had returned to their bridal suite, Scarlett had undressed and put on a new cotton night gown, which had sheer sleeves that flowed like bells from the elbows and a dainty French brocade border round the collar. It tied loosely at the top, exposing a couple of inches of her alabaster throat – a part of her body that she had discovered that Rhett liked to place kisses on whenever she gave him the opportunity. She had stepped out of the dressing room to see Rhett sitting by the window, observing the night time comings and goings of the city. For once, her usually alert husband didn't see her and she stood looking at him for several minutes marvelling at what a handsome man she had married. He was the complete antithesis of Ashley with his rich black hair, swarthy skin and perfect moustache and yet he stirred something in her that Ashley had never done and that she didn't quite understand, nor bothered to try to understand. She tiptoed over to him and he still didn't turn round; he was absorbed in the scene that was playing out in the streets below. Instinctively, spurred on by the champagne she had been sipping all evening and the memories of the previous night of their honeymoon, she leaned in behind him and wrapped her arms round his neck.

It might have been one of the only times in her life that she surprised Rhett, for his body spasmed slightly but he immediately composed himself and looked up at his new bride, with that look that Scarlett later categorised as his cat-at-a-mouse hole look. She swayed on her feet, but steadied herself by placing one hand on the chair and then bent right over him and kissed him on his lips. She maintained the pose for a few moments before she moved round to where he was sitting and collapsed into his lap, enveloping him in her embrace. It was so out of character of Scarlett that he had quickly scooped her up in his arms and carried her to their bed and made love to her as gently and tenderly as she had ever known.

As she lay in bed recalling that night over six years later, she now better understood her actions. With her barriers pushed down by the champagne and with Ashley at that moment far removed from her subconscious, she had wanted Rhett to make love to her, even if she hadn't realised it at the time. She had always pushed aside the fluttering in her heart that Rhett's kisses and even his very presence evoked and now she cursed herself for being so resistant to the notion of loving him…wanting him…just as she had so desperately last night. Oh, if only she could re-write history!

When Mammy returned, Scarlett was still lying on her bed, trying to ascertain if she could muster the strength to start her day.

"Miss Scarlett, yo aint touch yer breakfas'!"

"Oh Mammy, I don't feel so well. I don't think I'll get dressed after all or go out."

"Miss Scarlett, yer must eat sumpin. Please jes fer Mammy. Den yo mus hav a baf. Yo smell lak de madam of a ho house!"

This time Scarlett reacted to her loose tongue. "Mammy!" Scarlett exclaimed indignantly. "I do not!"

"Oh, yas'm yo do!" said Mammy equally vehemently. "Miss Ellen wud tell yo de same. Yo mus hav a baf and then mus eat sumpin'. Dere aint no one kan tole yo apard from me." Scarlett looked at Mammy, her green eyes dancing with irritation at Mammy scolding her. But as she looked at Mammy, her countenance changed from irritation to bemusement as she saw what Mammy was holding in her gnarled hands. She was holding her corset. Where on earth had she got that from, she wondered, remembering Mammy tidying up her clothes half an hour ago. And then, as Scarlett looked at Mammy and then at her closet and then at Mammy again, her hand went up to her mouth as she realised in horror exactly where Mammy had retrieved it from. Great balls of fire! She must have left it in Rhett's room! Scarlett started blushing and despite the warm air, pulled the covers up higher around her neck, wishing that they would swallow her up. What must she think?

Mammy went over to her mistress's bedside and gently placed the offending object by Scarlett's bedside.

Scarlett's befuddled mind was cantering through her options. She couldn't just ignore her or it. Perhaps, perhaps it was an old one Mammy had found somewhere, she thought hopefully, even though it looked exactly like the one she had asked Rhett to help her remove last night. But perhaps, if she just pretended…"Mammy, how…where…did you find that?" She swallowed hard, not directly looking at her.

"Miss Scarlett, yo ain't gwine play games wid me…" she said simply and gave her a look that left Scarlett in no doubt that she knew. Then, Scarlett's brain started doing somersaults and, because she knew that Mammy would not go into Rhett's room, she knew that Pork must have found it and given it to the female stalwart of the O'Hara family. If the night of Bonnie's birthday had by a miracle gone unnoticed by the servants, last night definitely hadn't. She had been rumbled.

"But…I…" Scarlett stopped as she saw a broad smile crease Mammy's old, fat, wrinkled face.

"Miss Scarlett, is abbt high time dat yo an' Mist' Rhett started mendin yer marriage. His a good gempmum an' ah aint wanna see mah l'il lamb sad no more."

"We're not mending our marriage…it's just…" Oh, how could she explain this to Mammy! And yet she had a feeling she didn't need to explain it to Mammy. Mammy had seen everything and understood her better than anyone – anyone except her husband – and she understood her, in part, because Scarlett had rarely tried to shield her from her worst behaviour. Scarlett knew that as Ellen's daughter, Mammy would stand by her, no matter how outrageous her behaviour had been over the years. Dear God, she had even helped her seduce and marry old Frank! She cringed as she remembered bullying Mammy to go and buy her some rouge ahead of attending Fanny and Tommy's wedding party which had been the first step in her two week plan to get Frank to the altar.

"Oh Mammy, I'm so…scared…" and, partly because she was tired and party because Mammy had provided her broad bosom for Scarlett to lay her heavy head on after Melly's funeral when she had gone to Tara for three weeks, she allowed some tears to fall down her cheeks. She had never bothered to tell Mammy about why she had been so sad after Melly's funeral – the fact of Rhett's departure going unspoken - but she knew that Mammy knew that there was more to Scarlett's unhappiness than just Melly dying. And when Scarlett had managed to drag herself out of the black hole she was in – by just a hair's breadth – Mammy had offered to return with her to Atlanta and had taken it upon herself to get her mistress better both mentally and physically.

Mammy had long ago lost protocol about physical proximity with her mistress and so she went and sat by her bed and stroked her hair in a manner that was reminiscent of Ellen's touch. "Honey chile," Mammy cooed. "Why's yo so scared?"

"Because I feel so alone. And I'm so tired of everything. I know it's my own fault but it's so difficult making friends and keeping them. I know no one likes me and last night at the ball, Honey Wilkes was so horrid. And now with Rhett back…oohhh…" and Scarlett's small body started shaking with fervent sobbing.

"Miss Scarlett, Mist' Rhett he loves yo."

"Why do you say that?" Scarlett said, sniffing.

"He come bak ter Atlanta dunt he?"

"Only for Bonnie! Not for me. He's leaving again next week. He told me so. Oh, everything is so complicated!" And she burst into a fresh flood of tears. But Mammy was no stranger to Scarlett's outbursts and having had almost thirty years of practice knew how to handle her. She reached out and took Scarlett's hand and squeezed it whilst, with the other one, she took a hankie that was by Scarlett's bedside and mopped up the tears.

"Dere, dere, honey, everythin'll be fine. Yul see. Yo aint a Robillard and O'Hara fer nuthin. Yo may be a mule but yo is also as strong as an ox and yo will feel better wid or widout Mist' Rhett. Jes look at Miss Ellen…" and then Mammy shut her mouth quickly and Scarlett was left wondering exactly what Mammy had meant.

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By late afternoon, Scarlett's headache had subsided enough that she allowed Mammy to bathe her and then, dressed in a plum coloured velvet housecoat, she went down to the parlour to look at Ashley's books. But despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate. Her mind kept on wandering to the night she had spent with her husband. She vaguely recalled him telling her it was a mistake – at least that was what she thought she remembered – but what did he mean by that? And then her mind drifted back to the last time they had shared a bed – discounting the night of Bonnie's birthday – when their behaviour had resulted in a baby. Oh good grief, supposing she got pregnant? Was that what he had been thinking of? It would be a disaster, not because she didn't want another child but because of the repercussions with Rhett. He would think it had been a deliberate ploy on her part and he would hate her!

After looking at the same set of figures for ten minutes, she conceded defeat and snapped the book shut. She sat down on the window seat and looked over the front gardens and at the trees that were just starting to bud with apple blossom and which, when in full bloom had the effect of softening the garish and harsh architecture of her Peachtree Street mansion. She needed to do something to occupy her mind whilst she waited for his return but she had never been very interested in reading and sewing was something she endured rather than enjoyed. She looked around the parlour and caught sight of the piano that hadn't been touched in months. Suddenly, she thought back to the years spent in Pitty's parlour when she had often been coerced to play in the evenings and, with those memories, went over to the instrument. Lifting up the heavy mahogany case that protected the keys, she sat down on the stool and started playing. In her melancholy mood, all she could think of were the sad songs from the war and she didn't have the energy or trust her faltering falsetto to accompany them with words.

After a while, she reached back further into her mind to recall some of the childhood pieces that Ellen had taught her and the only one she could think of was an old Beethoven piece, the name of which escaped her. It had been the single classical piece that she had learned to play without music – probably because it had been the easiest. She started playing, the notes rolling off her fingers and as she did, she became lost in her own thoughts. She was reasonably accomplished as a pianist, although out of practice, and despite the odd wrong note, the tune was recognisable.

As she reached the end of the piece, she heard muted childish laughter and then the front door slamming. Wade and Ella were home. She stopped, a cadence away from completion and stood up only to see both her children and their step-father standing in the doorway.

"Don't stop for us," Rhett said. "I haven't heard the Moonlight Sonata in quite a while." That was what it was called – trust Rhett to know.

"Oh, I was just tinkering. I wasn't really playing."

"We heard you outside, Mother. It was beautiful," Wade said and Scarlett laughed and then walked over and kissed her children on their heads.

"Did you have a nice time?" she asked, smelling the fresh air on them. Ella's cheeks were ruddy and her hair was all matted.

"We had a picnic, Mother," Ella said, grinning broadly.

"That sounds like fun. I wish I could have come."

"We were going to wait to see if you wanted to join us but…" Wade's voice trailed off as though he was scared of breaching a confidence.

"We waited for an hour but we weren't sure what time you would get up and we didn't want to get to the river too late," Rhett interjected. Scarlett looked at her husband. Did she descry that he had wanted her to join them?

"You could have woken me," Scarlett offered meekly.

"And risked the wrath of Sleeping Beauty? Not very likely."

Scarlett scowled at him. "Maybe you could try asking next time. You might be surprised with my reaction." And then, remembering that the children were witnessing the exchange, she turned to them and gently enquired whether they were ready for supper.

"I'm not hungry, Mother. We had so much food," Ella volunteered as she rubbed her tummy.

"But it's nearly six o'clock!" Scarlett replied.

"I'm not hungry, either," Wade added.

"Well, I don't like you going to bed without eating properly."

"We can always have a midnight feast," Ella said, looking up at her mother through her long fair eyelashes. She had moved to where her mother stood, and Scarlett felt a little hand grabbing at the skirt of her housecoat.

"Well…"

"Scarlett, they did eat a lot. They won't starve," Rhett said.

"Alright then," Scarlett said. "If you are sure. I just don't want you to be hungry later." Scarlett hated the children missing any mealtimes, a legacy of her own days of near starvation.

Just then, Mammy came into the parlour. "Master Wade, Miss Ella jes look at yo!" Ella ran from her mother to the comforting bulk of Mammy and embraced her. "Miss Ella, yo clothes are wet! Yo gwine catch yer death eef yo don put on dem dry clothes." She touched Wade's clothes too. "An' yo, Master Wade. Did yo go swimmin'?" They both nodded in unison. "Well, come wid me upstairs. Ahs soon get yo out of dem clothes."

The children scampered off with Mammy, Ella clutching Mammy's hands, leaving Scarlett alone with Rhett. She looked at him trying to work out what he was thinking but as usual his black eyes were indecipherable. She wished she had had the forethought to offer to help bathe Ella but now, if she left, he would know she was avoiding him. And she didn't want him to think that, just in case…what? That he didn't think last night was a mistake, despite his protestations?

The silence was increasingly awkward. Why did he never make things easy for her? Finally, she said, "Do you care for supper or have you too had had too much to eat?"

"I might take something later."

"Right," Scarlett said. "Well, I guess it's just me then. I'll tell Dilcey." She wanted to ask if he was staying home tonight but pride prevented her. Instead she said, "Thank you for taking them out. I was meant to do something with them today but…well…I guess I need to learn to handle my alcohol better. " She smiled at him so that he knew she was speaking in jest and he returned the smile.

"Well, at least some of us benefitted from your inebriated state." As he said those words, panic hit Scarlett. Did he think that last night happened just because she was tipsy?

"I wasn't drunk, Rhett. Maybe I had had a glass of wine too many but I wasn't drunk." She had known exactly what she was doing and she didn't want him to think…well what did she want him to think?

"I'm not complaining. I just think we both need to be a bit more careful." So he had thought it was a mistake! She had played her hand of cards and lost. Thank God she hadn't told him how she really felt – her humiliation would be complete.

"Yes," she said simply. She didn't know what else to say. "Well, if it's only me for dinner, I'll take it in my room. Good night."

"You're retiring to your room this early?" Oh, he was infuriating! What did he want her to do?

"I'll read a story to Ella but I'm not sure there is much point staying up beyond that. Besides, I want to go to the store early tomorrow so an early night will do me good." She moved towards the doorway.

"Whatever happened to your zest for living that I fell in love with?" At his utterance of the word "love" he got her attention. What had he said? She turned round.

"Sorry?"

"You're passion for living!"

"Oh, it's still there," she said, smiling wryly at him. "It's just in hibernation at the moment. I'm sure it will come out when it has found someone suitable to be passionate about." Rhett roared with laughter as Scarlett left the parlour.


	13. Chapter 13

_This is the first in a sequence of three chapters that brings us to the end of Act I…For some reason, I struggled with the delicious and delectable Rhett Butler in these chapters (less this one) when I had thought before that he was quite easy to write! The next chapter is almost finished and will be up shortly as is the third in this sequence. Julia – you will have to be a little bit more patient for more Rhett and Scarlett action – you will get what you want (of sorts) in Chapter 15._

_By the way – trying to ensure things are in keeping with the era makes it difficult to think of scenarios for clandestine meetings. I get the feeling everyone watched everyone's every move._

_Please leave me your comments – they always help. And constructive criticism is also very very helpful!_

Chapter 13

Scarlett was at the store by nine o'clock. She had insisted on giving Wade a ride to school in her carriage, even though she sensed he would have preferred to have walked. "Wade," she said as he wriggled out of her embrace, "Invite Beau over after school if you want. He can stay for dinner too. What would you like for dinner and I'll ask Dilcey or Minnie to make it?" Wade shrugged, conscious that everyone was looking at him. He knew his mother was the most beautiful mother out of all his friends and he was proud of her but since his Uncle Rhett had left Atlanta, whenever people saw him with Scarlett, it always reminded them of the gossip that surrounded her. No one knew of a divorcee and Scarlett was as close as they were likely to get to knowing one.

"Well?" Scarlett persisted.

"I don't mind, Mother, really." Wade said quietly, getting out of the carriage. "Let Ella choose."

"We'll have fish pie then." Wade scampered off and Scarlett sat watching him as he ran up to Beau. He was a shy boy and she was thankful he had Beau as his best friend. It was ironic how she had hidden behind Melly's skirts as she tried to gain favour with the Old Guard and now, a generation down, Wade relied on Beau in much the same way. Everyone loved Beau – not just because he was Melly's son - but because he was the most good natured, politest and kindest of all of Atlanta's brats – and that goodwill rubbed off on Wade.

When she got to the store, it was quiet. Hugh was not yet in and the store wasn't due to open for another hour. She pulled open the shutters and then went round each display and table checking on the stock, rearranging it and generally tidying the disarray. Before Bonnie had died she had thought about expanding her business and opening another store – perhaps in Jonesboro or Marietta or even further afield in Macon – but Bonnie's death had sapped all her energy and any expansion plans were in abeyance. Perhaps one day, she thought, she might resurrect them. She wanted to leave a strong legacy for Ella. Wade had the Hamilton brains and half of Aunt Pitty's house, as well as a strong desire to follow in his Uncle Henry's footsteps and become a lawyer, whereas Ella had been saddled with a scatterbrain and no paternal family. The store would one day be hers and Scarlett wanted to do what she could do to secure her daughter's future.

As she walked around Kennedy's she spied a space on a display shelf where a set of crockery had been. It was near to the front window – prime retail selling space. She sighed at Hugh's incompetence and went into the stock room and retrieved a duplicate set of crockery that was still in a crate. She put on an apron and then picked up the crate and staggered onto the shop floor with it. She put it down by the empty shelf and then went and fetched some steps, silently cursing her staff. How had none of them spotted the gaping hole? She really shouldn't have to do this. She was the proprietor.

She picked up eight plates from the crate and carefully climbed the wooden steps. Just as she reached the top, she heard the bell on the front door jingle and then heavy footsteps. She knew it wouldn't be any of her staff as they weren't due in for another twenty minutes. Why were customers so obtuse? The sign clearly said "closed" – were people illiterate these days or just blind? "We're not open for another hour!" she called out, without turning round.

"Is that any way to greet a potential customer?" came a male voice that sounded familiar. She couldn't immediately place it but the accent wasn't Georgian. Scarlett pushed the plates onto the shelf, sighed and then turned round. Her ire immediately dissolved when she saw who it was.

"Jack!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry. I was just slightly startled. I wasn't expecting anyone." She wiped her hands on her apron and climbed down.

"I was just walking past and noticed the store. Maybelle told me you owned it last night." He probably knew, then, that she had inherited it from Frank and that she had been married three times, not just twice.

"Yes, well, it keeps me busy," she said, wishing that she had worn her pale green dress with black piping rather than the practical fawn dress she had on.

"Do you want a hand? I am not sure a lady should be balancing on those rickety steps…" Scarlett looked at him and smiled.

"Why that would be perfectly wonderful. Thank you." He took off his hat, placed it on the side and then climbed up a couple of steps.

"Do you want to hand me what you want up here?" he asked. Scarlett started passing him the remainder of the crockery set and within minutes, the china was displayed, as it should have been before Hugh had locked up on Saturday. Jack jumped down from the steps and landed a couple of feet away from her. His energy and vigour for some reason tickled Scarlett and she giggled.

"Thank you. I don't know what it is with staff these days," she said. He laughed but she hadn't really been joking. There was an awkward pause as they locked eyes before Scarlett felt a blush rising to her cheeks and turned away.

"Can I get you a drink?" Scarlett asked, trying to think of some polite way to put distance between them. His masculinity was making her somewhat heady and she couldn't quite recall everything about the time they had spent together at the ball.

"I'm fine, thank you. Scarlett…" He hesitated as though he was weighing up in his mind what he should say. "You disappeared on Saturday night. I didn't even get the opportunity to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry about that," Scarlett said. "I suddenly didn't feel very well and Rhett took me home."

"Aaah, your husband," he said quietly. "He's an interesting…gentleman…"

"You could say that," replied Scarlett coyly. He looked at her, as though he was trying to deduce her true feelings towards her husband.

"I hadn't expected him to be at the ball..."

Scarlett looked at him, confused. Maybelle had only invited her when she had found out Rhett was back in town, so that didn't make sense. Besides, wouldn't it have been scandalous to go to a dance without her husband?

"Oh?" Scarlett said, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Maybe I should re-phrase that. I rather _hoped_ he wouldn't be at the ball." Scarlett felt another blush rise to her cheeks and she was thankful that they had moved away from the window so that the light was dimmer. She averted her gaze to the floor but when she looked up, he was still looking at her, a bashful smile beginning to enfold on his face. "I'll let you in to a little secret. I also rather hoped I would be sitting next to you. Nothing against the rest of the table but I knew you would be the most scintillating dinner companion. And a good dancer. You dance divinely, Scarlett. But then, you abandoned me without so much as a by your leave!"

"Abandoned you? Fie, Mr Picard, how you do run on! You had my undivided attention for most of the evening." Despite being years out of practice, Scarlett found it surprisingly easy to call upon her Southern belle charms.

"Not all of the evening though. Were you scared I might turn into a pumpkin if the clock struck twelve?"

Scarlett giggled again at the image he evoked. "As I said, I didn't feel very well and my husband wanted to leave and so I had no choice…"

"That husband of yours is a decided nuisance." He cleared his throat and his hazel eyes twinkled. "I had heard that, well, that your husband and you…" So he hadn't been immune from the gossip that swirled around her! Anticipating what he was about to say she shot him a dagger look. The audacity of some people was frightening! She did not want to talk about her marital relationship with a virtual stranger. He took her lead. "Well, anyway, I should really get round to why I came here in the first place. I was wondering if you wanted to come to dinner tonight at Maybelle's. It'll just be something simple – the four of us." Scarlett looked at him and arched her eyebrows. Was he just presuming that Rhett wouldn't accompany her? As if reading her mind, Jack corrected, "Sorry, the five of us, if…erm… Captain Butler is free tonight." Scarlett breathed again.

"Let me think…" Scarlett paused for effect. Of course she was going to accept the invitation but she didn't want him to think that she had no social engagements, even though this would be the first invitation to a member of the Old Guard's house for dinner since…well, before she married Rhett. Not counting Melly and Ashley or Pitty of course. "Yes," she said finally, after counting to ten in her head. "I don't believe I have any other commitments this evening. That would be very nice, if you are sure Maybelle doesn't mind. Thank you." She paused again. "I can't speak for my husband though…." She was frantically trying to recall whether he had mentioned any plans for tonight – he was certainly intending to stay in Atlanta until after Wade's horse was delivered so he should be around. "…but I think that should be fine with him too. What time?"

"Seven o'clock? Does that suit you?"

"Perfectly." She was back to playing the coquette and gave him her sweetest smile, all dimples and fluttering eyelashes just as the front door bell rang again, signalling Hugh's arrival. "Good morning, Hugh," Scarlett greeted, feeling slightly perturbed that she had been caught alone with a man who was not her husband. But Jack's presence appeared to barely register with Hugh. Hugh shuffled towards his boss. He looked worn out and almost…ill. "Good morning, Miss Scarlett, Mr Picard." he said looking at Scarlett and her male companion and then back to Scarlett again.

"'Morning Mr Elsing," Jack said, offering his hand. Hugh shook it. "Well, I'd better go into the stock room and see what needs bringing out."

"I replaced the crockery set that was in the display window," Scarlett called after him, as he sloped off to the back, but he obviously hadn't heard because a few moments later, he came out with a new crockery set. "I said I had replaced the crockery set," Scarlett repeated, trying not to let inflections of irritation creep into her voice. She would have had no such qualms if Jack hadn't been present.

"I'll put this back then," he said. "And then I'll check on the deliveries. Mary should be in soon and I'll ask her to re-stock the cutlery section and candles."

"Thank you," said Scarlett. She turned back to Jack.

"He looks exhausted," Jack said. "Maybe you're working him too hard?"

"He doesn't know what hard work is!" exclaimed Scarlett.

Jack laughed. "I was saying it in jest, Scarlett." And then, in a more sympathetic tone, he added. "I heard his wife complain to Maybelle that their baby was not sleeping at all and that they were often up all night trying to soothe the poor mite so that he wouldn't wake their other two children."

"Oh," said Scarlett. This was news to her. Now that she thought about it, it was obvious that they couldn't afford a wet nurse but she hadn't realised a baby could affect sleep in the manner that Jack was suggesting. With all her children, she had had sufficient help and had never suffered sleep deprivation.

"Well, I think I had better get back to work," she said after a short pause. As much as she had enjoyed the interruption and his attention, she needed to get on with her day. "I want to finish here early so I can have lunch with Ella." She was trying to assuage her guilt for having been an absent mother over the weekend.

"Ella?" he asked.

"Yes, my daughter." It was strange to refer to the noun in the singular when she had for over four years had two daughters.

"You have a daughter, too? As well as a son?"

"Yes. She's seven, nearly eight." She didn't need to volunteer any information about her parentage. Besides, she was sure that, by now, Maybelle would have filled him in on her marital history. Wasn't that how most of the ladies in this town spent their time?

"I bet she's a real joy. It's a charming age," he said. Unwillingly, the corners of Scarlett's mouth turned up. A joy? Charming? It was a struggle and a chore bringing up children and a worry and…painful. She sighed as she thought of the cavernous hole that Bonnie's death had left in her life. Hers and Rhett's.

"Yes," she said simply and then she remembered the tale of his stillborn child and realised he too had some understanding of the pain children could bring.

"Well," Jack said looking around the wares of the store. "I guess I should buy some candles for Maybelle. She asked me to get some and you seem to have a good selection." Scarlett looked at the section of the store that accommodated them and the shelves were almost empty.

"_Usually_ we do," she said. It was a miracle that the store made any money considering how Hugh and his team allowed the stock to become so depleted. "Tell me what you want and I'll go and get them from the stock room."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella had finished with her governess by one o'clock, just as Scarlett returned from the store. She ran to the door as her mother walked in, keen to show her the new book she had been reading.

"Mother, we read about white rabbits and blue caterpillars and a swimming mouse."

"That sounds like a fun story," said Scarlett as she looked at the book Ella was handing up to her. Alice in Wonderland? It was not a title she recognised and not one she had read in her childhood.

"Is lunch ready?" she asked Minnie, who had come to the door to assist her mistress. Scarlett had hired Minnie after Melly's funeral on the recommendation of Dilcey who had befriended her at her church. Minnie had needed a new station as her previous employer could no longer afford her and just as Gerald had not been able to turn away Dilcey's daughter Prissy, so Scarlett found it hard to refuse this "suggestion" of Dilcey. Dilcey, Mammy, Pork and Cookie – the most loyal of the O'Hara servants – although Cookie (together with Prissy) was now firmly ensconced back at Tara and, with respect to Cookie, much to Scarlett's chagrin.

"Yes'm. Ah's jes brin' it out to yo and Miss Ella in the dining room."

"Thank you," said Scarlett as she handed Minnie her riding gloves and bonnet. "Is Captain Butler home?"

"No m'am. He lef round noon."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No m'am. Mebee Poke knows." Scarlett doubted it but she would ask Pork later.

Ella pulled at the sleeve of Scarlett's dress, reminding her mother of her presence. "Sorry darling," Scarlett said as her attention was swiftly diverted back to her daughter. She needed to spend more time with her children and thoughts of her husband could wait.

Ella held out some paper with some writing on and Scarlett took it from her. "We practised writing today and I wrote about my family." Scarlett looked at the paper, with its spidery, childish writing and saw Ella's attempts at describing the members of her mixed up, unconventional family. She had included Bonnie, who lived in heaven, and her Uncle Rhett who, according to Ella, was always on vacation.

"That's one way of putting it," thought Scarlett wryly. "Vacation from the family and reality."

After lunch, Scarlett sat with Ella in the nursery trying to study Ashley's ledgers, whilst her daughter played around her. Eventually, frustrated with Ella's constant stream of interruptions, Scarlett suggested that they go to the parlour and Scarlett would teach her some chords on the piano.

By the time Wade and Beau arrived home from school, Ella had exhausted Scarlett's patience.

"Why don't you all go and play outside with the kites?" Scarlett suggested. Beau's eyes widened – Wade had some of the largest and most extravagant kites in the whole of the neighbourhood.

"I'll go and get them," Wade said, leaving his cousin and sister attempting to play on the piano. Scarlett took the opportunity to slip out of the parlour and go upstairs to her bedroom.

As she opened her door, she saw Wade, holding two kites, coming towards her. "Have fun," she called out "But don't go too far. And be back in an hour. And please look after Ella."

Wade stopped outside his mother's bedroom door. "Mother," he said shyly, his brown eyes soft and believing.

"Yes, Wade?"

"Are you and Uncle Rhett…" Scarlett looked curiously at her son, wondering what he was about to ask. He dropped his eyes to the ground and she suddenly knew what he was going to say. Panic suddenly hit her.

"Hmmm?" Scarlett said, trying to sound calm.

"Well, someone at school said…it's just that…" For once she welcomed the shyness of her son and that it was taking so long for him to muster up the courage to ask her the question. "Mother, someone at school said that you and Uncle Rhett were going to get a divorce and that was why he was back in Atlanta." If the matter hadn't been so serious, Scarlett would have laughed at the irony that her marital problems were the talk of not just the old peahens but now their children and grandchildren.

"And what did you say, Wade?" she said, hoping he wouldn't detect the nervousness in her response.

"I said…he was back in Atlanta to see us and that you loved each other. You do don't you, Mother?" he asked.

"Of course, I do, darling. I love your Uncle Rhett very, very much. And we are not getting a divorce. Never." She sounded emphatic enough to convince Wade and push aside his concerns. He started smiling. "That's what I thought, Mother," and he skipped off down the stairs, leaving Scarlett wondering if she had just lied once again to her son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett got ready for dinner and chose her wardrobe carefully. The evening was important to her as it was her first invitation to dinner at Maybelle's house. She wanted to look pretty and elegant but she didn't want to dress too ostentatiously. She was fully aware of the stark contrast in her (or, rather Rhett's) wealth and that of Maybelle and René. They only had one servant – who was expected to be the housekeeper, cook, Maybelle's dresser as well as mammy to the three Picard children. Scarlett was drawn to an emerald green silk dress but as it had real black pearls sewn into the bodice she discounted it and instead chose a simple dove grey gown.

She chose her jewellery with equal deliberation and steered away from the diamonds and other precious stones that Rhett had bestowed on her over the years. Instead, she picked up her two strand pearl necklace – which was buried at the bottom of her jewellery box. Charles had given it to her on their wedding day - the only gift he had ever given her. Unless she counted Wade.

Then she dabbed some lemon verbena scent behind her ears and above her breasts before finally pumping some as a mist around her hair. She looked into the mirror and wasn't too displeased with how she looked. Perhaps the gown wasn't her best colour but, with a dab of rouge on her cheeks, it was fine for tonight. She wasn't trying to impress anyone was she?

After bidding good night to the children, she sashayed down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step, she saw a shadow through the front door, and seconds later, her absent husband was standing in front of her.

"Rhett," she said, her voice sounding strangled. "I…I…wasn't expecting you back…"

"Clearly," he said. He stood there for a moment, taking in her form and she felt his eyes rake her. For the last couple of days, she had tried not to think of the nights they had spent together as it had unsettled her and despite her inward protestations, she found his casualness to their intimacy hurtful. She hadn't expected him to declare his love but she had expected an acknowledgment of sorts – although of what, she didn't quite know. Instead, she had been met with cool indifference, as though it was perfectly normal to share a bed with someone and then act as thought nothing had happened and she wondered if this was how he treated all his mistresses. Except she wasn't his mistress, she was his wife.

He shut the door and then leaned back, in his familiar nonchalant pose – one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cigar.

"I hadn't expected you home, Rhett," she said trying – and failing – to match his icy stare.

"Why not, darling?" he said in his mocking tone. "The last time I checked, my name was on the deeds."

"Where have you been all day?"

"At the bank." He grinned broadly at her, his white teeth luminescent in the dim gas light. "I thought we might have our own tête-à-tête tonight…"

"Tête- à -tête?" she repeated, not having a clue what he was talking about.

"…but I see you have other plans." She stood transfixed, trying to read his thoughts behind his impenetrable mask. "Where are you going?"

"To Maybelle and René's," she said quietly. He then started laughing, that low, derisory chuckle that always inflamed her choler.

"And I wager that your new beau, Mr Jack Picard, will be there too." He laughed again. He had always been able to rile her with his barbs and six months away had not decreased their potency. "I see I will have to go with you. After all, there is no point coming back to keep my side of our bargain if we aren't seen together, don't you agree? Unless you would rather go alone. I don't suppose having the incumbent husband tag along helps in ensnaring his replacement."

"If you're going to be nasty, I would rather you didn't come," she snapped back. "I want to leave now as otherwise I'm going to be late." She made a move towards the door.

"Allow me, Mrs Butler," he said, as he opened it. He held out his arm for her to take but she didn't. Instead, he placed a hand on her back which she felt move southwards towards the small bustle that was affixed on her dress.

"I'd be grateful if you could keep your hands to yourself, tonight," she barked.

He elicited a soft chuckle and then, as they were approaching Pork and the waiting carriage, he whispered into her ear, "I don't recall you having the same sentiments the other night. Or indeed the night before that." Trapped between wanting to hit him and the decorum that was required in front of their servants, she could do nothing but glower at him. He only laughed harder.


	14. Chapter 14

_Second part of the sequence. _

_As usual I own nothing._

Chapter 14

"India, Honey and John are here for dinner too. I hope you don't mind," said Maybelle as she ushered Scarlett and Rhett in to her cramped parlour. "Honey and John are returning home to Macon tomorrow and I thought it would be nice to see them before they set off." Scarlett bristled at the mention of Honey's name. So much for the simple evening Jack had talked of.

"A good idea, Miss Maybelle," Rhett said, sensing Scarlett's temper beginning to simmer. "Darling, you don't see enough of your son's relatives." He turned towards her and grinned maliciously.

"I see plenty of those of his relatives I want to see," she whispered, out of earshot of her hosts, before forcing a smile.

They walked further into the room and were met by Jack who was carrying glasses of punch for the guests. "Good evening, Scarlett," he said, smiling widely before he turned to greet Rhett. Honey, dressed in a high-necked taupe dress that drained all colour from her lifeless features, was perched on a chair to the side of the room, watching Scarlett like a hawk. René came over and kissed Scarlett's hand before India exchanged a kiss with Scarlett on her cheek.

"Honey," said Scarlett, nodding at her in acknowledgement when she finally allowed her eyes to catch Honey's glare.

"Good evening, Scarlett," she said, before she returned to her conversation with Maybelle.

Scarlett stood by Rhett's side, thankful that she had not come alone. Even now, months after she had started her concerted effort to win back the favour of the Old Guard, she still at times felt like a pariah. At least she was in Maybelle's good grace. Thank goodness Rhett had donated all that champagne to the ball!

Rhett was deep in conversation with Honey's husband, John, whom Scarlett had always liked. He had a no nonsense approach to life which she knew appealed to Rhett but it had always bemused her as to exactly what he had seen in Ashley's colourless sister. She was only half-listening to their conversation – something on bank lending rates – but she wasn't interested enough to pay too much attention. She felt tired and her feet hurt in slippers that were too tight. She looked around the room to see if she could sit down but the only chair available was between Honey and India and she neither had the energy for the inane conversation that would inevitably flow from India, nor the energy to bat off Honey's simple-minded but cruel barbs.

The invitation to dinner at Maybelle's had tickled her vanity. She had yearned for months to be embraced by the Old Guard but if this was the reward then she would rather remain an exile. She looked at the old grandfather clock, ticking softly in the corner of the room. She would have to suffer for at least three more hours before she could make an elegant exit.

As her mind wandered, she studied Maybelle's house. She had been in it before, when she had attended the sewing circles but she had always been too busy biting her tongue and trying to blend in with the other ladies to take much notice of her surroundings. Like Ashley's house on Ivy Street, there was no entrance hall. Instead, the front door opened straight onto the parlour. The parlour was cluttered with two mismatched settees and a couple of chairs but they looked like chairs that were comfortable to sit on, rather than the trophy chairs that furnished Scarlett's parlour and which gave her back ache within five minutes from sitting down in them . On one side of the room stood a beautifully carved flower stand that Scarlett thought she remembered from Mr and Mrs Merriweather's house and, tucked beside it, she saw a small black leather shoe – the keeper of which must have been the Picards' eldest child, Raoul. And then she saw a small doll, forgotten and pushed underneath the stand which Scarlett guessed must belong to Anne-Marie, the treasured daughter of the Picards and the same age Scarlett's last baby would have been if she hadn't miscarried.

There was nothing grand about the house but it had a homeliness that Scarlett knew her mansion had always lacked. There were books all around and a handful of scenic paintings – including one of an old plantation that, at first blush, reminded her of Twelve Oaks – and cushions that, though faded, were elaborately embroidered with oriental flowers. Scarlett wondered if Maybelle had done the appliqué – she had always been skilled with a needle. The curtains that hung at the windows were a rich amaranth cotton – a hue only a few shades lighter than the silk portières that hung in Scarlett's own parlour but, whereas Scarlett's appeared garish and offensive, Maybelle's were welcoming and comfortable.

As Scarlett surveyed the room, Maybelle came towards her, smiling so genuinely that her eyes twinkled. "I was so pleased you could come, Scarlett and I apologise for the short notice," she said. "I wanted to have you and Captain Butler over for dinner to thank you for the champagne. We raised such a tremendous sum at the ball – of course, helped by Captain Butler's generous bid for the first dance!" She leaned in to Scarlett and then added in a hushed tone, "I hope you didn't mind me dancing with your husband. I didn't know what to do when he bid for me!"

"Fiddle-de-dee, Maybelle. I didn't mind at all. I can always dance with him," said Scarlett as she failed to recall the last time she had actually waltzed with her husband. Then, trying to replicate the genuineness of Maybelle's gratitude, she said, "And the champagne was our pleasure." Maybelle beamed at her again.

"By the way, is it still convenient for you to host the next Widows and Orphans sewing meeting on Wednesday? I mean I can try…"

"Of course. I'm looking forward to it," Scarlett lied. She wondered if anyone would come – she sensed people tolerated rather than welcomed her. And then an idea of bribery came to her. "I'll get Minnie to make some of her lemon cake."

"Oh do! I've heard it's absolutely delicious. I'll come over at two o'clock and help you set up," Maybelle offered and then took Scarlett's hand and squeezed it. "You look beautiful tonight, Scarlett. As always. I love this colour on you."

"Do you?" Scarlett said, surprised. "I wasn't sure."

"It suits you perfectly. But then of course, you can wear most colours. Nothing looks bad on you."

Scarlett smiled. "Thank you, Maybelle." She wasn't quite sure why she deserved the praise but it gave her a warm feeling. She could get used to socialising with Maybelle who, she had noticed, didn't hold back on compliments. It was refreshing to be in a social situation where a woman wasn't competing – a vastly different experience from her times spent with the Mamie Bart's of the Atlanta world.

"Excuse me," Maybelle said before she approached her husband and gently tugged at the arm of his jacket. She whispered something in his ear which made René smile and then he followed his wife into the kitchen. Scarlett saw him put his hand gently on Maybelle's back, guiding her and then he leaned in towards her again and she saw his mouth move. She couldn't work out what he said but it provoked an affectionate giggle from his wife followed by a look of happiness and adoration. They had been married for over ten years, and, despite their struggles and tribulations – including the loss of their first born - they had survived. Together.

Scarlett sighed. She had never come close to achieving harmony in any of her marriages. True, Charlie had died before she had barely fluttered her eyelashes at him, whilst Frank's ideas of a wife were vastly different from what his reality turned out to be. And with Rhett, they had been too preoccupied with hurting each other and lying to each other to ever be able to live together in anything other than mutual apathy.

As she turned her attention back to the conversation of economics John and Rhett were engaged in, she felt someone's hand brush across her arm. Jack was by her side.

"We'll be sitting down soon. Why don't you come through whilst I open some wine?" he said. For a moment, Scarlett hesitated. He had a lascivious glint in his eye that unsettled her. She looked up at Rhett in the hope that he might draw her into the conversation or accompany her into the dining room, but he was too engrossed to even notice her presence. She shrugged and then smiled wanly before following Jack.

The room must have been a quarter of the size of Scarlett's lavish equivalent but the table was set with Maybelle's best china and silverware. The bakery can't be doing badly, thought Scarlett, as she noticed the hallmark on one of the knives.

Jack popped the cork and poured two glasses, before handing one to Scarlett. "I'm impressed with your store, Scarlett. It's got a good selection of home wares. I think I'll need to come back later this week and stock up on some of your…er... crockery." He winked at her and she felt herself redden and her hands immediately moisten with sweat.

"How much longer are you going to be in Atlanta?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from anything controversial and wishing Rhett was by her side.

"It depends what comes up. At the moment, I seem to have plenty of… things to keep me occupied"

Scarlett almost choked on the sip of wine she had just imbibed. She wasn't used to such blatant flirting and it made her uncomfortable. Occasionally, when Mamie Bart's and Sylvia Connington's husbands had been worse the wear from drink, there had been ribald remarks, directed at Scarlett but she had had her marriage – and Rhett – to hide behind. But now, she felt naked. She affected a nervous laugh just as the rest of the party entered. Scarlett saw Honey look right at her but Rhett then stood in front of her, blocking the glare. As René squeezed past Scarlett and Jack, he knocked Jack's hand, spilling blackberry wine down his starched white shirt.

"Oh Jack. I'm so sorry," René said, immediately grabbing a napkin and trying to stop the stain from spreading.

Jack laughed. "René, don't worry. I'll just change shirts. I won't be long."

As he left the room, Rhett whispered to Scarlett, "A reckless man who covet's his neighbour's wife gains four things – and it looks like Mr Picard has just gained punishment." Scarlett looked at him, with a baffled expression, as Maybelle, who had been helping Grace in the kitchen, finally entered the room.

"Aah, good," said Maybelle. "I see the wine has already been opened. Why doesn't everyone sit down and I'll get Grace to start bringing the food in?"

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Somehow, Scarlett got through dinner without having to say much of anything to anyone, least of all Honey, whilst Rhett disarmed everyone with his charm. Initially reluctant to be drawn, he was coerced into regaling tales of his blockade running adventures for the benefit of the swooning women and the admiring men that sat around the table. Scarlett sat back and listened, hearing with fresh ears about some of his daredevil escapades and felt a flush of pride.

"You were so brave, Captain Butler," said Maybelle and then, turning to her husband's cousin, she asked, "Did you know that he bought me the material for my wedding dress? From Paris no less!" Jack shook his head.

"And all the little gifts you brought back for Aunt Pitty!" exclaimed India to Rhett. Scarlett smirked at India's enthusiasm, recalling all the snide comments that India had made about such gifts whilst speculating on the true nature of Scarlett's and Rhett's relationship.

"You were so brave," repeated Maybelle, quietly, her brown eyes wide with admiration. Maybelle definitely has a soft spot for Rhett, thought Scarlett, amused.

"Not brave. More foolish. I was just in the right place at the right time," said Rhett and he suddenly looked awkward at the praise being heaped on him. "Now," he said, turning to his wife, "Scarlett was far more intrepid. Staying in Atlanta with Miss Melly and Wade whilst the city fell and everyone deserted." It was now India's turn to look uncomfortable. She shifted position in her chair and reached across for the pitcher to fill up her glass with elderflower cordial. "Miss Pitty had left and Scarlett was all alone and, after delivering Beau, she fled a burning city in a rickety old cart pulled by a half dead horse right under the noses of the Yankees."

"But you helped her, Captain Butler," remembered India, who had heard of, and been bored by, the heroism of Scarlett from Melly on numerous occasions and knew Rhett's role in their escape.

"Against my better judgment. I thought it was lunacy but…well, when Scarlett wants something she doesn't give in. Do you darling? Besides, I only helped her by stealing the horse and the cart. The rest Scarlett pretty much did on her own." Scarlett stole a look at her husband and for once there was no mockery in his eyes, but something else. It was as though he had drifted off into his own thoughts and he was remembering the pluck and determination of the young girl who had spirited her family away from the ravages of Sherman.

"That was a lifetime ago," said Scarlett, wishing to break the pregnant pause that had engulfed the room. "I don't remember much of it." But she did. She would never forget that dreadful day or the absolute fear that gripped her whole being. And, despite Rhett's retelling of the story, she knew that she would never have made it without his steadying presence by her side. Surely he knew that?

Just then, a little voice piped up sleepily from the edge of the room. "Mama." It was Napolean. He was standing in a grey flannel nightgown looking up at the adults, trying to locate his mother whilst sucking his thumb. Maybelle immediately stood up but was unable to make an easy exit. Quickly, René was by his son's side and scooped him up into his arms, brushing the black curls away from his eyes. "Papa, I had a horrible dream. Lots of big monsters," he said, burying his head into the warm nook of his father's shoulder.

"There, there," René said, stroking his son's back. He then turned to his guests. "Sorry everyone, please excuse me," and he left the room with his precious package wrapped tightly round him.

The whole scene reminded Scarlett of Bonnie – aided by the fact that Napolean had been one of her daughter's most favoured playmates and instinctively she looked across at Rhett. But if he had thought of their daughter, he didn't show it. His impassive mask was firmly affixed.

After dinner, the men got up to smoke on the porch and drink port, leaving Scarlett with Maybelle and her two childhood neighbours. Honey had barely spoken to Scarlett all evening. As Maybelle left the room to make some tea, Honey pounced on Scarlett.

"So Scarlett, still trying to tempt Jack?" Scarlett rolled her eyes. Oh good grief, wouldn't this woman talk about something different. Scarlett had barely spoken to Jack all evening.

"Still as bitter as ever?" Scarlett said, the words tripping off her tongue involuntarily. Honey glared at her old rival with the same intense hatred that her sister had been known to direct at Scarlett, before their rapprochement and fragile ceasefire - when they realised they both had a responsibility to look after Melly's widower and son and when India realised that perhaps, after all, she had misjudged Scarlett and Ashley.

"You're like a cat on heat! Hanging on his every word. It's quite frankly ridiculous!" Scarlett glanced at India who sat mute, desperately trying to stop the curves of her thin, bloodless lips turn up. Of course, Scarlett couldn't expect India to defend her. Their relationship hadn't exactly developed into a friendship. A hundred thoughts passed through Scarlett's mind, and, despite the surge of Irish blood that rushed through her veins, she managed to bite her tongue. She would be mortified if her hostess heard the war of words and she wanted to keep Maybelle's good opinion of her.

"I think I might go and see if Maybelle needs help bringing the tea in," Scarlett said with a forced cheerfulness. She stood up, just as Maybelle shuffled in with a tray of tea cups and saucers and a large pot of tea.

Maybelle, oblivious to the earlier scene, set the tray down and started pouring and distributing the tea.

"So how long is Jack going to be staying with you?" Honey asked, her voice resonating with sweetness.

"I'm not sure," said Maybelle, as she poured the final cup for herself. "Possibly another week or so. But he's no bother and the children love having him around. It's so sad what happened."

"What happened?" India asked, her attention suddenly caught.

"Didn't I tell you? I was sure I had. It's really rather tragic. His wife died in childbirth. Almost three years ago now. It's taken him a while to get over it."

"That is sad," India said as she sipped on the hot drink.

"I told him he needs to find himself another wife. He's still young. But he hasn't really seemed interested."

"Well, I expect if Scarlett was free, she would be quick to make him husband number four," said Honey.

"Honey!" exclaimed Maybelle, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. And then she looked at the recipient of the barb.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Maybelle. I'm used to Honey's nasty remarks, ever since we were children and the boys all preferred to play with me," said Scarlett without batting an eyelid. She looked at the clock and wondered how much longer the men would be. For the second time in the evening, she wished Rhett was by her side.

"We all know Scarlett has to have her new man lined up before she discards the old one. I mean she married Captain Butler just a year after the death of poor Mr Kennedy. I suspect that Jack is her next victim."

Maybelle didn't know where to look and was by now as red as the strawberries they had had for dessert. India, sensing their hostess's discomfort, said, "Honey, please. It's all water over the dam." Scarlett just looked coolly at her new nemesis.

"At least I can _get_ a husband," she said wryly. "I can't help it, Honey, if Charlie and all the others preferred me." She smiled sweetly even though her thoughts were of wanting to throttle the old cat.

"You trapped him!"

"Honey…" but Maybelle neither had the words nor the backbone to stop the onslaught.

"How did I trap him?" Scarlett said, beginning to relish the argument.

"You did. You were so flighty and sly and were desperate to marry before the war broke out in case you were left an old maid." Scarlett wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the accusations. Oh, if only Honey knew how she regretted accepting the proposal as soon as she had said "yes".

"What like you, you mean?" Scarlett retorted.

"Oh…." Honey's mouth and eyes narrowed in pure hatred whilst India looked on – a mixture of shock that her sister was saying all that she had wanted to say to Scarlett over the years and vague disbelief.

Honey quickly recovered. "And then everyone knows that you married Mr Kennedy just to keep Tara. You sacrificed your sister's happiness for your own personal gain. You acted like a prostitute!" Scarlett felt herself colour at the accuracy of the charge. She could never think of her marriage to Frank without feeling utterly humiliated at the memory of offering herself to Rhett not more than two weeks before. And she _had_ prostituted herself with Frank too! She had lured him into her lair and as soon as she had the ring on her finger, her sugar-coated act all but vanished.

"And then Captain Butler! Well, the only reason people can think of as to why you married him was for his money." The last remark hit Scarlett the hardest. She had never really known at the time why she had agreed to marry Rhett, other than that he had caught her at a weak moment – feeling vulnerable, insecure and full of self-hatred as well as drunk. Yes, the idea of his wealth had certainly been alluring but now, when she looked back on it, she wondered if there had been more to it, even then. She could remember the dizzy feeling she got when he kissed her and how her heart beat faster whenever she was in his presence and how she used to miss his company when he went away and how she had strange pangs of jealousy if she saw him talk to other women. She had probably been in love with him when he had proposed to her. If only she had known what love was!

"I don't think you have any clue what you are talking about Honey and I would thank you to hush up."

"And now, with you practically divorced from Captain Butler, you're keen to get your grubby little paws on Jack Picard."

Scarlett leaned in to the source of the vitriol and said in a low, threatening voice, "How dare you! Why would I want to divorce my husband? I don't want nor need anyone else thank you very much."

"Why would I believe that? You have a habit of being in love with someone other than the man you are married to, don't you Scarlett? I can't believe the leopard has changed her spots!"

"Why you…" Scarlett said, baring her teeth and knowing that only the sight of blood on that pale, translucent skin would appease her wrath.

"Honey…" India said, no longer smirking but squirming at the scene her sister was making.

"It doesn't stop you flirting, whether you're married or unmarried! You still think you're the belle of Clayton County, don't you? I _know_ you swapped the name cards at the table. No one else could have done."

"Apart from me," Jack said. The four women turned round to where the voice came from and Honey instinctively put her hand to her mouth. He was standing in the doorway, next to Rhett, who was looking on the scene in mild amusement. Jack sauntered into the room, all eyes still firmly fixed on him. "I switched the cards because I wanted to carry on talking business with Scarlett. She owns a store…" Honey nodded slowly. "And I wanted to discuss buying some wares for the saloons I am building." Scarlett didn't dare look at him in case she started laughing. It was all so preposterous! He hadn't once talked business for the whole two hours they had sat next to each other – or when they had danced. He hadn't even realised she owned the store until Maybelle told him last night.

"Oh…" said Honey, looking like someone who wished the ground would make way for her body. "I thought…I…" She looked down at her empty teacup and Scarlett felt triumphant.

India nudged Honey in the waist and then whispered hoarsely. "Honey…you need to…" and she cast her eyes over in the direction of Scarlett.

"I'm sorry Scarlett," she mumbled as she reached across the table for the teapot.

Scarlett tried to regulate her breathing but her anger had been substituted for jubilation. She had been exonerated and now Honey, with her bile, was shrinking visibly back into her chair. "No need to worry, Honey. A perfectly innocent mistake," said Scarlett trying and failing to sound gracious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"An interesting evening," Rhett commented when they were in their carriage. It was past ten o'clock and Scarlett felt exhausted. She wanted to nestle her head against Rhett's shoulder but instead she rested her head on the opposite side. Despite the jostling of the carriage, she was struggling to keep her eyes open. "It's amusing to see how men immediately flock to your defence. Little do they know that you need no defending. I was surprised that you didn't engage in fisticuffs with Honey."

"I was tempted," she said, yawning. "But I am trying to behave like a lady." He laughed softly as she closed her eyes.

By the time they reached their home, Scarlett had fallen asleep but was woken up by Rhett's gentle prodding as the carriage drew up outside their house. The house was dimly lit - the servants had extinguished all the candles save for the ones flickering in the hallway and the landing, which had been left on to light the passage to bed.

Rhett closed the front door behind them and then they started their ascent to their rooms, in tandem and in silence. Scarlett's thoughts turned to the evening they had just had and the warm intimacy Maybelle and René shared, the cosy home they had built and the family they were raising. Wasn't that what a marriage was all about? Support, love and companionship? Instead, she had a marriage that was held together by propriety - ironic considering neither party had ever cared two hoots about propriety. And then her mind drifted to the two nights they had spent together since her husband had returned. Had they really been as meaningless to him as he had made out? On the night of the ball, she had felt stripped of everything – and not just her clothes. They had done things to each other which she hadn't thought were even legal, the memory of which made her blush and then he had just walked away and barely acknowledged it, other than in ill-considered and off-handed mockery.

She sighed and she felt Rhett turn towards her. "Hmmm? Did you want to say something?" They were at the top of the staircase now, a couple of feet away from her bedroom.

"I was just thinking…" Scarlett mused but then stopped herself. How could she explain what was in her mind without him laughing at her? How could she explain her lamentations to this man who had rejected her and hurt her and who had made her feel useless?

"Go on…" he encouraged.

"It's just…" She hesitated again as she considered whether she could trust him if she spilled her thoughts. But she felt too delicate to continue or even to try to explain it. It was all hopeless. The mess they were in was all hopeless as well as exhausting. "It doesn't matter, Rhett," she said finally. "Good night."

He looked at her and then cupped her chin in his right hand and pulled her forehead closer to him before he kissed it.

As his lips pressed against her skin, Scarlett suddenly felt the rising sobs that she had pushed aside for the last couple of days rise in her throat. She knew that the fact that they had shared a bed meant nothing to him but, despite her inward protestations, it had meant something to her. Why was she still in love with him? Why did she crave his presence, his touch, despite everything he had put her through in the last six months? In an instant, her whole body gave way to fervent silent sobbing, her body shaking from the vehemence of it. She turned away from her husband and tried to turn the handle on her door but her hand slipped and she couldn't open it. She tried again and failed again. She needed to be away from this man who had systematically destroyed her over the last year and who she had also systematically destroyed over the past five years. She didn't want him to see her like this - weak, sad and lonely.

"Scarlett," he said, his voice concerned and absent any note of mockery. "Scarlett," he said again, gently. He made a move to bridge the gap between them but she stepped away.

"Don't come near me, Rhett," she managed to plead, her voice quaking with emotion. She reached for the door handle again and this time, she managed to grip it properly and turn it. "Good night," she said as she walked inside her sanctuary and closed the door behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

_The third part in this particular sequence which brings us to the end of Act I. Thanks everyone for your kind reviews. Melody-Rose – I intend to do something from Rhett's PoV as a prologue – but MM's style was such that she never really told you how he was feeling. _

_Let me know what you think (please be honest) – and apologies for the length._

When Scarlett was in her bedroom, she pulled the bell for Mammy and then started taking out her hairpins. Her tears were drying and she retrieved a hanky from her dresser and blew her nose.

Mammy came up and helped her out of her evening gown and stays. Sensing Scarlett's upset, she barely said a word, before she bade her good night, leaving Scarlett at her vanity, brushing her hair.

Despite her best efforts, her mind wandered to Rhett. Ever since he had returned, her emotions towards him had swung backwards and forwards like the large pendulum that kept the time of the clock in the grand hallway. He still couldn't resist teasing her mercilessly, unleashing his bitter barbs when the mood took him, but sometimes she saw a chink in his armour when he could be almost as charming as when she had first met him all those years ago – before marriage and her naivety ruined everything. She thought of the evening that had just gone before them – she would never have guessed he was sentimental and yet when he retold the story of their flight from Atlanta, she could have sworn he looked wistful. They had been through so much together and he knew her better than anyone – passionate and icy, flirty and practical, loving and hateful, brave and fearful. He knew her inside and out.

But despite the intimacy they had shared, she knew that their relationship was no closer to being repaired than when he had walked out on her six months ago. Oh, she had been such a fool to think for a moment that he might have come back to Atlanta because of her! It had been about Bonnie and that vacuous promise he had made about keeping up appearances. She thought back to Ashley and how she had existed – because she hadn't always lived, not really – on the few crumbs of his love he had thrown at her. She couldn't do it again and waste years of her life waiting, hoping, looking for small signs that he might still love her whilst allowing the anticipation to gnaw away at her, like consumption that would eventually leave her half the person she was. She had to stop it now before it completely destroyed her and she had to do it tonight, before she lost her nerve and didn't say what she needed to say.

She threw on an old velvet wrapper over her nightgown, one that she had brought to their marriage and which buttoned up right to the top, with simple ruffles round the cuffs. She didn't want there to be any possibility of him misconstruing the purpose of a late night visit. She took one last look in her mirror and was pleased to see that her eyes were no longer red or streaming. They were strangely passionless - the perfect demeanour for what she wanted to say. She walked across her bedroom and breathed in deeply. Then, she opened her door. As she did, she heard his familiar tread on the stairs. For a moment, she couldn't determine whether he was going down the stairs or up them and so she stood stock still, listening. The footsteps were getting louder. Good, he wasn't leaving for the night. At least, not yet. Shortly, she knew he would pass her room and she would then speak to him. In her mind, she ran through the opening lines of her gambit and then breathed in deeply again. Her heart started racing and she balled her fists so hard that her nails made indentations in her palm. She stood in her doorway, waiting.

"Scarlett?" he said as he approached and saw her, luminous in the doorway.

She swallowed hard, knowing that what she was about to say would be as difficult and painful as saying "I do," to Charles. "I was wondering if we could talk," she said quietly.

"In here?" he questioned, gesticulating towards her bedroom. She nodded. She didn't trust her voice not to betray her quivering heart. He gave her a quizzical look and then went in and stood in the middle of the room, whilst she closed the door. She stood a few feet away, the mantelpiece acting as a shield for each of them.

"I…" she started but she couldn't get the words out of her mouth. Her tongue was paralysed and her mind a blur.

She looked at his unreadable face. He looked neither surprised nor unsurprised. He wasn't jeering. There was no supercilious grin, no raised eyebrows. And for the first time, she thought he looked all of his forty six years.

She tried again. "I…Rhett…I…." but her mind went blank. She couldn't think of anything other than how he had broken her heart.

Finally, he spoke, releasing some of the tension. "Scarlett, I'm sorry if I upset you earlier. I'm sorry if my…behaviour has upset you."

Now that the silence had been broken, her breathing regulated. She wanted to appear as ambivalent as he was to her. She shrugged. "You didn't upset me. I'm fine."

Suddenly, she felt a deep pain flash across her forehead and a wave of nausea gripped her. She moved to sit down on the stool by her vanity. Rhett, taking her lead and not taking his eyes off her, sat down on a chair opposite.

Their eyes locked. "Rhett, I've been thinking," she began. As she heard her voice, the fog swirling in her mind lifted. "And not just over the last few days, but the last few months too." She saw something flicker at the back of his otherwise impenetrable stare. He didn't say anything so she continued. "Tonight, seeing how happy Maybelle and René were, how supportive they were of each other, what a lovely family they have…it made me realise that…well, I don't think I can go on like this. I mean with how things are with us. I am exhausted. Utterly and completely exhausted. I never know if we are making war or …" her voice trailed off. She didn't want to talk of love just yet.

Rhett still said nothing but just looked impassively at her.

"I can't carry on. I need peace in my life too – just as you said you wanted peace. I want a husband. A proper husband." Her delivery was matter of fact, cool even. She wanted to replicate the tone he had used when he had delivered his monologue six months' ago. He would respect her if she could just refrain from becoming overwrought and emotional. She sighed. "And if I can't have a real husband then I don't want anything. I certainly don't _need_ a husband. But I just can't and don't want _this_. I am not sure what I was expecting after all these months but your presence, your behaviour… it's breaking me. You're breaking me." Her voice was surprisingly level, though her heart was in fragments.

"So is this your way of telling me that you'll agree to a divorce?"

"Oh no." She shook her head fiercely. "I don't want a divorce. I don't. I thought you understood that." She forced herself to keep looking at him, even though she wanted to bury her head in her hands.

"So you would rather shackle yourself to a man who is not in love with you just because you don't want a divorce." There he went again, telling her he didn't love her and each time, the pain was just as intense. But when he spoke like that, so baldly, she knew she was making the right decision.

"If you want to put it as plainly as that, yes. But Rhett, you know it would ruin me. And the children. If you don't feel anything for me then think of Wade and Ella. It's not just me who would be an outcast."

"Scarlett, I think you exaggerate…"

"Besides which," she continued, ignoring his interruption. "A long time ago you told me you weren't a marrying man. And if you had doubts back then that marriage was for you, I'm pretty sure your experience with me has put you off the institution for life. So, unless that was a lie too, I don't think you'll marry again so why would you care about a divorce?" And then she added, because she wanted to try and reflect some of her pain onto him and remind him of his failings in their marriage, "It's not as if marriage has prevented you from being unfaithful to me. So I don't see what difference it makes to you whether we get divorced or just…erm…agree to live separately."

He sat pensive for a moment looking at her but without speaking. The silence was audible and Scarlett felt her heart beating fast and her stomach churning in unison with it. She wished that she had a glass of brandy by her side to steady her nerves. She could feel her knee shaking underneath her heavy velvet wrapper and so placed her foot flat on the carpet to try to stop the involuntary vibrations. Her hands felt sweaty and even though she rubbed them against her wrapper, it didn't help. They still felt clammy.

After a while, he ran his large hands through his jet black hair and then looked at her, unemotional and cold. "Maybe _I_ wanted a _proper _wife too. But if that's what you want, I agree," he said sending an unwelcome shiver down her. She hadn't exactly known what to expect but she hadn't expected…this.

"Good," she said, trying to be as indifferent as he was, but now that she had said her words and she had heard his response she felt her insides crumbling. She stood up unsteadily and walked over to the mantelpiece and pretended to stoke the fire so that she would have an excuse to turn her back on him. She didn't want him to see the pain that he had inflicted on her, even though she had initiated this. Or the tears that had automatically sprung up in her eyes as he had uttered his reply. She played with the glowing embers whilst she bit her lip and tried to compose herself. What had she expected? Certainly she hadn't expected any outpourings of love. This was all for the best – she knew that. She would feel better about it all tomorrow. She just needed to _make_ it through to tomorrow.

She walked over to the French windows and looked out onto the garden, now shrouded in moonlight and then, even though she despised sentimentality, her eyes drifted to the balcony and the exact spot where he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her only three days ago. How had they gone from that to this?

She twisted her hands round the gold chord that hung by the drapes as though, by osmosis, it might give her strength and then, as she felt fresh tears prick her eyes, she stared furiously ahead, trying to quell them. But she was powerless to stop them falling and she buried her head in the rich, crimson material to wipe them away. Then she turned round.

"So you'll leave?" she asked, her voice cracking and faint.

He nodded slowly but this time she thought she saw something in his face – something that hadn't been visible on that night six months' ago when he had first told her he didn't love her. He looked uncomfortable but there was something else. Regret? She re-took her vanity stool.

He sighed. "It was a mistake to come back. I wanted to see the children…I missed them and I hated the fact that I just walked out without saying goodbye to them properly." He looked at her, his dark eyes flickering in the gas light. "But my sentiments about us haven't changed." He was almost whispering as if he was forcing himself to say the words. "And the night of the ball shouldn't have happened. I should have had more self-control but when the most beautiful woman in Georgia is in your bedroom and it is late and you have both had too much to drink..." his voice trailed off as he broke the gaze. He had now not only broken her heart, he had ripped it from her body. She had known really that that night was just about…lust…why had she given herself to him like she had? She only had herself to blame. He hadn't led her on, had he? But she couldn't think of the details of that night because it was so blurred from the champagne and wine and brandy and that damned final glass of burgundy. "I should have had more self-control," he repeated meeting her eyes again.

"We both should have." She paused, and then asked because she needed to be sure, even if it prolonged her torture, "So it meant nothing to you?"

He sighed again and looked away. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm tired, Scarlett."

"No," said Scarlett firmly, as something snapped inside her. "I want to talk about it tonight. I'm tired too, Rhett. Of everything. Of us. Of all this…charade…of being so guarded." And then she looked away as she felt the tears brim to the surface of her eyes again. Another silence fell between them before she repeated her question. "It meant nothing?"

His obmutescence was his answer and this time, she didn't have the energy to stop her tears, even though she had not wanted to cry in front of him. They started falling, like rivers, noiselessly down her cheeks. She buried her head in her hands. She was defeated. She had lost him now, forever, and, despite having rehearsed in her mind what she had wanted to say to him, she now didn't know how to exit gracefully or graciously. She had been hovering above broken glass ever since he had returned six days ago, occasionally cutting herself but managing to bandage it up with the same resilience that had transported her throughout the various crises in her life, but now the shards of glass were piercing her everywhere. The pain was immense and she could hardly breathe. She felt as though she had finally fallen into the abyss that she had been balancing so precariously on the edge of for months.

"Scarlett, I'm sorry…"

"I don't want to hear it," she interjected, in a voice that she knew not where it came from. And now that she had finally spoken, she felt stronger, like the proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes of their marriage. Suddenly, she felt angry with him – not because of how he had used her physically - but because he was willing to give up on her – them - so easily. "I know you don't want to hear this but Friday night and Saturday night meant something to me, Rhett."

Through the cracks in her fingers, she saw him stand up and shift his weight onto his right foot as though he was contemplating whether or not to walk away. "Oh no", she thought, with renewed clarity, "Before you walk away, I want to give you a few home truths about yourself."

She rose to her feet and padded closer to him, her slight frame dwarfed by his large body. "I won't give you a divorce, Rhett, but I don't see the point in holding you to your promise of coming back to Atlanta to keep gossip down, either. I'll cope. I always have. I might want you but I don't need you. And neither do the children."

He looked down at his wife, her face now blotchy but tearless and her raven hair, escaping from the loose grip she had placed it in and falling around her small shoulders. She looked as delicate as a butterfly apart from her eyes which were steely and determined.

"But I want you to know that what I said six months ago, well, none of that has changed. I love you. Yes, most _unfortunately_ for me, I love you." She still remembered the stinging retort he had hurled at her on that horrible afternoon, however much she had tried to blot it out. She laughed, a low, hollow laugh that was directed as much at her as him. How could she have been so stupid and let him into her life again? How could she so willingly have allowed him to kiss her and do…other things to her? She brought her gaze up to meet his. "I am not sure why I still love you and I wish I didn't but I do and I can't help it. Just as you can't help not loving me." She saw Rhett's expression change. "I love you more than anything in the world."

"So clichéd," he murmured, just loud enough for Scarlett to hear. Oh the cad!

"Who gives a damn whether it's clichéd! I want to be honest with you Rhett even if you have never been honest with me!" she smarted. Why did she love this mean, cruel, horrid man? "I would give up _everything_ if only we could try and fix things between us. I know you won't believe me but if I could have you, nothing else matters." She couldn't properly see through her dark lashes that had become heavy with tears again. "I would even give up Tara if it meant I could have you," she said softly and with those words she thought she saw her husband flinch.

"Scarlett, don't be so melodramatic. I'm not worth all of that…"

"No, you're not but for some strange reason you are to me," she said quietly. And then, with the same steel in her voice from earlier, she added, "God knows why I should feel all of this for the most conceited, arrogant, cowardly man I have ever met. But I do. And don't think I haven't fought my feelings on this and wish to God I didn't feel like this…"

He ignored the insults. "We can't be happy…" His voice was heavy and dejected.

"Why not? How do you know? We've never even tried! Not properly. The moment I tell you how I feel, you walk out on me. And it was something you had _apparently _been wanting me to say for twelve years."

"Exactly," he said coolly, levelling his gaze at her. "I had been waiting for twelve years. And I even tried being married to you for _six_ of those…"

"And for those _six_ years, you were never yourself! You hid everything from me. You didn't treat me as a wife, barely even a friend. You treated me with disdain most of the time. You treated me as an object that you could buy, that you could manipulate, that you could hone your skill of delivering cruel barbs on! You lied for _six_ years – probably longer if you count the years before we got married. I always asked you whether you loved me and you always said you didn't! I thought that you only married me because you wanted me as some sort of… legitimate _mistress_." She spat the repugnant word out. "You made enough comments to that effect over the years. What was I supposed to think? You lied, Rhett. The whole time! You lied to me. Again and again and again and again. And on the one occasion that you told me you loved me, you then lied about that too – after disappearing for three days!" She looked at him, fire burning in her brilliant green eyes. He met her stare, with one as equally resolute.

"Actually, I told you twice that I loved you," he said calmly. Twice? She couldn't think of any other declarations other than that wild night after Ashley's party when he had finally revealed his true self only for him to cower at that Watling woman's establishment afterwards and then treat her so casually.

"Once, twice – it doesn't matter," said Scarlett, raising her voice, not caring which of the servants heard. "Most husbands tell their wives they love them countless times."

"Most wives _love_ their husbands – or at least don't crave the touch and caresses of someone else."

"Oh…you…." Scarlett said, furious with him for bringing up the subject of Ashley. He knew she hadn't loved Ashley. Not really.

"And let's not forget how well you treated me, darling?" She looked at him, his eyes suddenly alive. "As soon as you had your pretty little paws on my money, you threw me out of our bedroom…"

"And I regretted it as soon as I did! Yes, I did! I was a fool, a stupid fool! And I missed you but I didn't know how…I mean, I couldn't figure out why I felt so… " Her voice trailed off as she recalled the ten minutes of that fateful day which changed their relationship forever. How many hours had she spent rueing her words, wishing she could recant? "I remember thinking as soon as you had left our room that I had made a mistake but I didn't know how to correct it and you didn't make it easy." And then she let out a long, strangled, exasperated groan as she collapsed into a chair.

"Scarlett, please don't…"

"I just don't understand why you didn't fight for me?" she said, and there was a flicker of despair in her voice. "You're a gambler, a renegade, who doesn't give a damn what people think and yet you were so frightened about what _I _might think that you decided I wasn't worth the risk."

"We've been through this, Scarlett."

"Yes! When I didn't have my wits about me, when my best friend had died!" she shouted. Then in a calmer tone, she said, "Why didn't you force me to see how ridiculous I was being? You have this amazing, uncanny ability to read me like a book – why was that particular page of me so hard to read? I wanted you, Rhett, but I just didn't understand it. You're the man who has travelled the world and has all this experience of life and…women…and yet you couldn't help me see that I wanted you!"

He started laughing softly, mocking her. "Oh dear God, it's my fault now. The demise of our relationship is all my fault."

"No," she said. "I'm not saying that. It was my fault too. It was more my fault but…"

"You didn't er…_want _me until Miss Melly died, when Ashley very conveniently lost his allure. Want is very different to love, isn't it?"

"Not so very different. Not if you don't understand love," she said quietly.

He sighed. "Scarlett, you exhausted me with your obstinacy and obsession. I don't think I have ever known anyone as obsessed with someone as you were with Ashley."

"No?" She let out a twisted laugh. "Weren't you obsessed with me? So obsessed that you would have killed Frank if he hadn't died when he did?" said Scarlett and as soon as she said it, she recalled with chagrin the many times she had wished Melly had been dead.

Rhett looked at her, his mockery absent and for once she knew she had caught him out. He changed tack. "You are…were so heartless."

"I'm not heartless!" she cried.

"No? Then pray tell how you justify your behaviour towards your one true friend. I understand why you had no qualms about cheating on me and breaking my heart…"

"Breaking your heart? I didn't even know I had it!"

"…but I never understood how you could betray Miss Melly. I suspect somewhere on the long and winding road of your relationship with Mr Wilkes, you did physically betray her. Didn't you?" He looked at her and she cast her eyes down in shame as she thought of the clandestine kisses they had exchanged when he was on his furlough and after the war at Tara. "I thought so. I never believed your relationship was entirely chaste."

"Rhett, I never…nothing happened really and not when I was married."

"So that makes it all right does it?"

"No…" Scarlett felt a throb in her throat. She hated herself for what she had done to Melly, more so even than Rhett, because Rhett had known about Ashley from the very first day she had met him and yet he had still wanted her. Yes, she had betrayed Melly in the worst way possible and she would be stuck with that guilt for as long as she lived.

"It's in the past, Rhett. So long in the past." And then, emotion washed over her and she repeated her earlier question. "Why didn't you fight for me? Why?"

He looked at her and sighed but didn't say anything. Instead he dragged a hand through his thick dark hair.

"Sorry, I forgot," she said tartly. "It's because you are a coward! Too worried about rejection, about me laughing at you. You like to live in a bubble, away from the realities of life. Why, you can't even face up to reality now! You can't even say the word "dead" and "Bonnie" in the same sentence. You can't even go into her bedroom! You can't even see her toys without pretending they aren't hers. Our little girl is gone and it's as though you still won't accept it even after all this time. Bonnie is dead! She's dead! She's gone…" She didn't finish because suddenly Rhett's hand was on her arm, squeezing it so tightly that she thought he was going to break it. His eyes were glaring, a molten pot of hatred, despair, pain. She suddenly felt frightened. Was he going to hit her?

"Sorry," she said, in a shallow voice. And she was, she had gone too far and this was about them, not her, except…except that Scarlett couldn't help but wonder what their precious angel would think of their war. "I'm sorry," she repeated. He released her from his grip and took a step back. In a quiet voice, Scarlett said, "I'm just trying to understand, Rhett. You talk of this great love you had for me but you just let me go. So easily too."

Rhett looked at her and the anger in his face dissipated but there was still something there that prevented it from being its usual bland self. He walked over to the French windows and put his right hand in his trouser pocket.

"God, it was not easy! Nothing with you has ever been easy." He didn't turn round as he continued. "And I did fight for you. For twelve years I fought for you but you were so stubborn in your supposed love for Mr Wilkes. Besides, I have never had to beg for a woman, Scarlett. And I wasn't going to start with you. And I certainly wasn't going to force…well…apart from…" He stopped abruptly and Scarlett knew he was thinking of the night of Ashley's party. Did he really think that she hadn't been willing?

She stood up and cleared her throat and then went towards him. "You didn't force me, Rhett. That night, you might have forcibly…kissed me but…well, nothing else." She instinctively laid her hand on his arm, gently, reassuringly. "You must know that." She swallowed hard, swallowed the rising sobs that had begun to pepper her words again. He turned round and looked into her eyes, beyond the red rims and the water that sat stagnant on her irises, beyond into the fire that he had lit. And if her vision hadn't been so blurred, she would have noticed some tears in his eyes too. She continued, trying to bring levity to their very dark conversation. "But, I think you did beg me, Rhett – at least you begged me to marry you, didn't you?" Her voice was softer, carrying a lilt of kind mockery, as she remembered his ardent proposal and his threat to serenade her under her window every night if she didn't say "yes". She now believed he probably meant what he had said in some way or another, even though at the time she had thought his threat was absurd.

"Well, alright then Scarlett," he said softly, tiredness creeping into his voice "I had to beg for you. But only you, Scarlett, only you. Because I loved you so much."

She swallowed hard, no longer caring if he saw the tears trickling down her cheeks, down her neck and onto the fabric that covered her breastbone. "That night, Rhett, the night of that damned birthday party – I knew deep down I loved you – but you never saw how much I wanted…loved… you. And then you just took the cowardly way out and disappeared."

"I knew that you would have lauded my words over my head like a knife, to use to cut me whenever you deemed it appropriate. I don't mind living in danger but I am not a masochist."

"A what?"

"It doesn't matter," he murmured.

"And when I found out I was pregnant…well…I couldn't tell you, even though…" Her voice drifted off as she remembered how happy she had been about the pregnancy. "I remember being so excited – even though everyone in town was gossiping about me, about us, wondering who the father was." She saw him flinch. Was he remembering his harsh accusations about paternity? "But I didn't care. I was so pleased and yet I couldn't share my happiness with anyone because I felt that you should be the first to know. But I had no idea where you were!" She saw his face blanche and then his hand went to her arm, gripping it tightly.

"You mean…you were happy about the baby? Our baby?" She nodded, her eyes once again soft and watery. "I didn't know…" and once again, he seemed lost for words. He looked away from her and she saw his shoulders slump.

"No you didn't because you never allowed me to tell you. You were too wrapped up in protecting yourself against me to allow me to tell you. To allow me to share something that was so…special." She went silent as she recalled those weeks of anguish when she didn't know whether he was alive or dead, when she was desperate to tell him about the baby, when he was travelling around South Carolina with her darling Bonnie.

"I hated you for leaving me like that, Rhett. You accuse me of being heartless and yet you took my daughter away from me. For three whole months! You took my daughter away from me and I heard _nothing _from you. What man does that to a woman? Not just a woman but his wife who he _apparently_ loves." She moved back to her vanity and sat down on the stool again as she thought about her dead daughter.

"She was my daughter too…"

"Yes! But she was _our_ daughter! I would never have deprived a father of seeing his child, whatever I might have thought about or…felt towards that father. It's a shame you couldn't extend the same courtesy to me."

"You showed such little interest in her that I didn't think you would even miss her," he said coolly. "You didn't even take her to Tara when you went there did you? You took Wade and Ella…"

"I didn't take her because I knew that she would miss you…"

"No, Scarlett. You didn't take her because she was not old enough to amuse herself. You would have had to have spent some time with her…"

"Oohhh," she screamed, a scream which was a fusion of hurt, betrayal, despair and then because he was too far away from her to hit him, she did the next best thing. She picked up the only heavy object that was close at hand and threw it at him. It was only when it missed his body and crashed through the window breaking the glass into small fragments that she realised it was Ellen's carriage clock. At the realisation of what she had done she dissolved into desperate tears and fell back onto the stool. Finally, her weeping subsided into a series of long sighing sobs. "Now look what you've made me do! It was the only thing I had from my mother. The only thing the damned Yankees didn't steal," she shouted, conveniently discounting the rosary and garnet beads.

After a while, she opened her swollen eyelids and saw her husband move towards her.

"Don't Rhett," she whispered, holding a hanky to her face. "Please don't come any nearer. You'll just make things worse. I've got to learn to control my temper. I wish I could be like you – cool, calm, evasive." She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and blew her nose and then a wry smile crossed her face. "Well," she hiccoughed. "I guess you left me some legacy. I'm not often without a hankie these days." She stood up, and smoothed her skirt. "You don't need to stay any longer. I've debased myself and I swore that I never would – not in front of you. I didn't mean for all of this." She hiccoughed again but her breathing was becoming less frantic. "I guess I just wanted you to know that you have broken my heart…"

"And you broke mine too," he murmured in response.

She looked at him, her eyes red rimmed and watery. "I know," she said quietly. "And I can't forgive myself for that. Maybe that's my cross." She walked over to the door. "There's nothing really left to say, is there? So if you wouldn't mind leaving, Rhett." He stood watching her, not moving. "I mean, leaving not just my room but the house." He still didn't move. "And Atlanta. You said Atlanta was too new for you so I'm sure you won't mind leaving this city." She opened the door, wishing desperately that she was on her own.

"Scarlett," he said. "Don't…"

"_Please_ just leave. It's all too painful for me Rhett," she said with pathos. "And if you won't do it for me as your wife, do it for me as the mother of your dead child. You don't want to be here anyway! I need to lick my wounds and heal and move on with my life and I can't with you…here…I've just been acting like a lovesick fool – hoping desperately that somehow…the nights…we spent together….might have changed things…and I feel stupid and humiliated. And I don't particularly like feeling like that." Her voice was shaking but the tears had stopped falling. She was trying to be brave, elegant.

"Scarlett…"

"Please Rhett. I'm asking you."

She saw him look at her and then he clenched and then unclenched his fist as though he was letting something go. Was it her? Was this really the last time she was going to see him? This man who had tormented her, adored her, despised her, said unspeakable things to her. This man she had tormented, loved, hated, and who had been the recipient of many of her unkind and vicious words. Words that she had often hurled at him without really meaning them. They were both so similar, she could see that now, but she was the only one that loved. And she loved him with that same crazy, unbreathable passion that he had apparently loved her with. Somehow though, she had a feeling that her love for him wouldn't die as his did for her. It might fade but she knew now – far, far too late – that this man was her kindred spirit, the love of her life.

He came towards her then and even though she turned her body round to prevent it, he took her gently in his arms and held her close to him, in an embrace that reminded her of the embrace he gave her on Aunt Pitty's porch just before they fled Atlanta. But this time it didn't give her the comfort that she craved, it only precipitated another bout of crying. Then he stroked her hair for what seemed like ages but could only have been a couple of minutes, until her body no longer juddered with sobbing. "I loved you very, very much Scarlett and I am so sorry for everything." He kissed her on her forehead, and tucked the hair behind her ears. She didn't try to look up at him and if she had, she would have noticed that the tears that had pricked his eyes earlier had reappeared again. And then he walked out of her bedroom, closing the door gently behind him and left her to start her new life alone.

_Sorry Julia – I have a feeling this wasn't the Scarlett and Rhett action you were hoping for…but I always thought Rhett got away lightly on the night of Melly's death. Scarlett never even reproached him for his horrid words that he spat at her just before she miscarried. And I mean, come on, surely Rhett Butler should have tried seducing her again. He just allowed her to wallow in a love for Ashley that, deep down, he must have known was childish infatuation. Jalna – I think if Scarlett hadn't come out of her room, Rhett would have come knocking on her door._


	16. Chapter 16

_Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed, PMed me, etc – especially, Alison, Coco, GS, Julia, Melody-Rose, Pitty,CeeJay – well, all of you! You have all given me food for thought. A lot still has to happen and the action will pick up but I wanted to focus on the aftermath of Scarlett's outpourings and her new situation in this chapter. BTW – can anyone point me to the part in GWTW where we learn of the fall out between Mammy and Dilcey? When Mammy goes to Melly's after Bonnie's died, it is mentioned – and I just wondered what happened between these two most faithful servants as I couldn't remember a fall out!_

_As usual, I don't own anything – please let me know what you think!_

Chapter 16

"Mother," Wade said shyly, after he had spooned the last scrapings of porridge into his mouth.

"Hmmm?" said Scarlett stifling a yawn. She felt drained, almost beyond tired. She had not slept, despite spending several hours in bed, and her ribs ached. When the cracks in her curtains revealed muted sunlight, she mobilised the last vestiges of her energy, and rose from her bed to start the day. She threw on the wrapper that she had worn last night and walked down the hallway towards the nursery. The children were already there, eating breakfast and she asked Minnie for some fresh coffee as she sat in companionable silence with them.

"I…saw Uncle Rhett last night." At the mention of his name, Ella's interest was piqued. They both looked at their mother, waiting with paused breath for her reaction, Wade's soft, romantic eyes, and Ella's beady eyes, boring into Scarlett. Scarlett smiled vacantly at them – her eyes, pin pricks peering out of her heavily swollen eyelids, swollen from the torrent of tears she had shed until the early hours of the morning.

"Did you darling?" she said impassively. Ella's inane chatter had stopped and she sat still, no longer fidgeting with the blonde curls on her Parisian doll. Wade continued to look at his mother, searching for some encouragement to continue, searching for some indication that she would not scold him for daring to bring up the hallowed name of his stepfather. But he couldn't read his mother. She just looked so sad – sadder even than the day of Aunt Melly's funeral.

He coughed nervously. "Yes, I did and…" He stopped as he considered if he was breaching loyalties owed to his stepfather. Had Uncle Rhett wanted his midnight visitation to remain a secret? But then he looked at his mother again - pale, small, defeated - and thought she might want to hear it and if she didn't, well, he would know about it soon enough.

"I woke up and saw him standing near my bed and he said he was going away again." Scarlett's eyes were fixed on her eldest child, unblinking. She looked odd – dazed even - and he couldn't tell if she was really listening. Then, he saw her eyes suffuse with a thin, transparent film.

"And?" she said gently.

"He said that in the summer," he paused and looked down at his empty bowl, "Ella and I could come and visit him in Charleston and stay with his mother." If Wade had been looking at his mother, he would have seen his mother's head jerk subtly and Ella's freckled face break into a warm, childish grin.

"Did he say anything else?" she coaxed.

"He told me that he loved me and asked me to tell Ella that he loved her too and he said that sometimes…" He stopped and looked up at his mother. Her hand was shaking with the coffee cup she was holding. She noticed the shaking too and put the coffee down, then hid her hands in her lap, circling her thumb with her forefinger.

"Go on darling. You can tell me."

"Well, I'm not really sure I understood what he was saying."

Scarlett sighed. "You wouldn't be the first O'Hara not to understand what he was talking about," she said. "Tell me what he said – and I'll try and explain it to you."

"He said sometimes he wished that adults could have the simple lives children have…when they don't get bitter or something and question everything. They take things at face…I can't remember, Mother. Sorry." He took a sip of milk from his cup. "What did he mean, Mother?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Wade, but I think he probably meant that life hasn't ruined children yet –they haven't experienced bad things or sad things or events that make it impossible for them to be happy." Wade contemplated his mother's words as Scarlett looked over his head and saw a bird swoop onto the windowsill. It was pecking at some food that she suspected one of the children had put out.

"But isn't Aunt Melly dying a sad thing?"

Scarlett looked at her thoughtful son who was sometimes wise beyond his years. "Yes it was, darling. Very, very sad. Although it's only sad for us. It wasn't as sad for her, because she's in heaven. With Bonnie. With your father."

He nodded, not really understanding. Not really understanding why his mother and stepfather were both so unhappy. It seemed to be a different sort of sorrow from when his sister had died. Then, there had been lots of harsh words, slamming doors, bitter accusations, wailing, anger – and he had gone to bed every night for weeks, with his pillow over his head, hoping that he would be able to block out the horrible sounds that his parents' grief was causing and which was reverberating around every wall of the house. It had frightened him and the only place to escape was Aunt Melly's. And then Aunt Melly had died and his mother's crying had started again and didn't cease until just after Christmas, when his mother had abruptly stopped talking about Uncle Rhett and had allowed him to start at the Atlanta Scholars Academy.

"Darling, go and get dressed. I'll take you to school in the buggy if you like or I can get Pork to take you."

"Mother, it's fine. I can walk."

She looked at him, her eyes as dull and lifeless as the painting of her that hung in the upstairs hallway. "Alright then," she said. He had expected more of a fight. "Don't be late home from school." He slid down from his chair and walked a couple of steps towards the door but then something compelled him to turn round. His mother was still looking at him, with the same vacant look she had worn earlier, but even from a few feet away, he could tell her eyes had become all misty and watery again. Instinctively, he went over to where she was sitting and kissed her on her cheek and as he did so, she put her arms round him and swaddled him in an embrace, whilst he breathed in her unique aroma of lemon verbena and lavender, scents that her tears had failed to wash away.

As he left the room, he saw her scoop Ella up into her lap and embrace her in a similar fashion, despite his sister wriggling and wanting to continue playing with her dolls. Suddenly, he remembered that today was Tuesday - the day he was meant to be getting his horse but with Uncle Rhett no longer here, he wondered if it would happen. Having seen how his mother's eyes had gone teary at the mention of his stepfather's name, he decided it would be best not to mention it. It was only a horse anyway and, really, he was quite happy with his pony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in weeks, other than the day of Bonnie's birthday when she had attended Mass, Scarlett didn't go to the store. Hugh had arranged a meeting with a supplier that she had asked him to set up weeks ago but she felt too jaded to even get dressed, let alone talk business. She dispatched Pork with a message, telling Hugh that she wouldn't be at the store today and not to expect her for the rest of the week. She was finally taking a holiday.

She left Ella with her governess and then went to her bedroom. Her head hurt with fatigue and her mind was a befuddled mess. She tried desperately not to think of her husband, but the harder she tried, the more prevalent he became in her mind. She replayed their conversation, over and over again, and then was hit by self-doubt. Doubt that she had done the right thing. _She_ had pushed for his exit. She had issued the diktat and if she hadn't said anything, had kept her composure, had acted gracefully and like a lady, he would still be in his room, down the hallway, maybe even having breakfast with her. But then she thought about that awful feeling that the nights they had spent together had left her with. No, she only wanted him to stay on her terms. If he loved her. And through all the emotional shots they had fired at each other last night, the words that were foremost in her mind were her confessions of love for him and his reminders that his love for her was spent. I love, he loved, she thought. One little letter but a mountainous difference. She bit her upper lip, hard, and tasted blood. No, she wouldn't cry again. She had used up too many tears on him. _I'm not worth all of that_. He was right. He wasn't.

She pulled the drapes over the windows to block out the sunlight and as she did, she saw the jagged hole in the window. She had forgotten about the clock and carelessly traced her finger round the splintered glass. She had loved that clock because it had represented Ellen - elegant, refined, sophisticated and beautiful inside and out. And now it lay broken, shattered into most probably a thousand pieces. She opened the window and leaned out – but couldn't see the evidence of her temper. Perhaps the pieces had scattered far and wide. She didn't want the servants to see the clock - the rumour mill would go into overdrive. Hastily, she ran out of her bedroom and down the stairs and then went through the kitchen.

"Mornin' Miss Scarlett," called out Dilcey, who was scrubbing some pans, whilst feeding her two youngest children breakfast. Pansy was a week older than Beau, little Sam, close to Wade's age. Another year and he would be going into service although Scarlett had already determined she would ask him to work at her Peachtree Street mansion.

"Good morning, Dilcey," Scarlett replied before she whipped past her, to the far corner and opened the door that led directly onto the garden. She ran across the back of the house, to the spot that was directly underneath her window and bent down to the cobbled path that ran the full width of the house. But there was no clock. The path was empty. There wasn't even a fragment of its porcelain face on the path. She looked up at her window to check she was in the right position and then scanned the path left and right. She still saw nothing, not even a sliver of the gold filigree. She looked in the flower beds, parting the plants and flower stems but there was no evidence of it there either. The clock had disappeared and, if it wasn't for the outline of broken glass in her window, she might have thought that she had imagined it all. Slowly, she walked back to the kitchen, her eyes cast down and then she saw a thin gold line glinting in the early morning sun. She bent down to take a closer look and there, lying on top of a half opened rose, was one of the hands from the clock. She picked it up and ran her finger over it and then walked back inside the house and up to her bedroom, relieved that her mind wasn't breaking, even if her heart was. Suddenly, she felt desperately tired and so she pulled the drapes closed, shrouding the room in darkness before climbing into her bed. Within minutes she had fallen into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Miss Scarlett, der is a gempmum in der parlour. He wan' ter talk ter Mist' Rhett. He has a horse wid him. Say' his name is Mist' Sim'son." Mammy was by her mistress's bedside, gently waking her up. Scarlett slowly opened her eyes and saw the reassuring figure of Mammy standing over her. "Whad shud Ah tell him?"

"Tell him that Captain Butler isn't here at the moment and ask one of the stable boys if they can take the horse to the stables." Scarlett turned over on her side and closed her eyes again as Mammy nodded and left.

A few minutes later she was back. "Miss Scarlett, Ah dun tole him dat but he aint movin'. He say' he need ter see Capt'n Butler."

"Great balls of fire!" exclaimed Scarlett, sitting up in bed. "Captain Butler isn't here! I have no idea where he is. Why does he have to see Captain Butler?"

"Now Miss Scarlett, please doan go gettin' all work' up," said Mammy in a hushed tone. "Ahs explain dat ter him an' he say he needs payin'. For de horse."

"What?"

"Jes what Ah's said Miss Scarlett. He needs payin' for de horse."

"Ohhhh," Scarlett growled, screwing up her eyes in frustration. "That varmint! To leave me like this. Why didn't he settle the debt? How much?"

"Eight hundred dollars."

"Eight hundred dollars? What sort of a horse has he bought my son? Well, I shall tell him that we don't want it. We have enough horses – especially if Captain Butler isn't going to be living here anymore." And then Scarlett realised what she had said. "What I mean is…erm…"

Mammy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Miss Scarlett. Ah's know whad yer mean. Ah's aint no fool."

"Well, I shall have to go down and tell him myself then." Scarlett got out of bed and, despite it being one of the warmest days of April, threw on her heaviest house coat and then grabbed an old shawl and wrapped it round her body for further modesty.

"Miss Scarlett, yo aint goin' down ter see a gempmum not dress' prop'ly!" Mammy moved to the door to block her exit.

"I don't care Mammy. I don't care about anything anymore. I want to go to sleep and the sooner I get rid of this man, the sooner I will be able to do so."

"Miss Scarlett, yo is a lady an I…."

"Mammy, I haven't got time to be a lady," she snapped, her nerves frayed with tiredness. "I just want to see this Mr Simpson and then go back to bed." Mammy stepped aside and allowed Scarlett to open the door. As Scarlett marched down the hallway, down the stairs, Mammy waddled after her.

When she reached the parlour, she saw a tall, wiry man, with half rotten teeth and a deep scar that ran along the underside of his jaw line. He was standing by the piano, looking at some lithographs of her children that were on a small side table. He picked one up.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice clipped and unwelcoming.

"Mrs Butler? John Simpson." The man replaced the picture on the table and held out his hand. Scarlett didn't take it. Instead she gave him one of her iciest stares whilst Mammy stood beside her, replicating the stare of her mistress.

"I understand from Mammy that you wanted to see my husband. Well, he's not here today and so you'll have to speak to me instead. What do you want?"

"Mrs Butler, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Mr Simpson, I'm not feeling very well, so I would thank you to tell me what you want and then leave."

"Your husband bought a horse from me on Saturday and asked me to bring it to Atlanta today. It's outside. One of your stable boys is taking it round."

"We don't want it, thank you. So if you would be so kind…"

"I'm afraid, Ma'am, that is quite impossible. I have a bill of sale, signed by a Mr Rhett Butler – he is your husband isn't he?"

"Yes," crackled Scarlett.

"He told me when we met in Jonesboro that he would pay me on Tuesday when I delivered the horse. So I have upheld my end of the bargain and…." There was something abhorrent about this man and not just his appearance. He looked her up and down and she wished that she had heeded Mammy's advice and had dressed properly. She was all alone with only Mammy and possibly young Reena in the house. Pork was out, running errands, Minnie and Dilcey had gone to the market and Ella had gone out to the park with her governess. She squared her shoulders.

"Well, Captain Butler isn't here, as I have explained," Scarlett repeated but slightly less forcibly than before. She wrapped her shawl tighter round her body. If she wasn't so tired, she knew she would be able to think straighter.

"Well, Mrs Butler…" he rolled the "r" at the end of the word and his mouth curved up in a malicious smile. "I aint going nowhere until I have the money." He moved closer towards her and there was a waft of unpleasantness. The man looked and smelled as though he had not bathed in weeks. What had her husband been thinking of doing business with this man? And how dare he not settle the debt?

Scarlett took a step back. She had no cheques on her. She kept her cheques and bankers drafts in the safe at the store. She could go and retrieve them from the store but it would mean either allowing the man to travel with her in her carriage or risk leaving him in her house unattended, neither option of which was palatable. She had some money upstairs but only a couple of hundred dollars at most. Rhett might have some money in his room but she wouldn't know where to look. Damn him for not sorting this! They didn't need the horse anyway! Yet another mouth to feed.

Just then, there was a heavy knock at the front door. Scarlett tried to peer out of the parlour window but she couldn't see who it was. Mammy shuffled out and, moments later, she heard low, muffled, voices and then heavy and deliberate footsteps coming towards her, with Mammy's tread following. It was Henry Hamilton, all five feet five inches of him and rotund as ever.

"Uncle Henry!" exclaimed Scarlett, genuinely pleased to see Charlie and Melly's uncle. As she saw him, she remembered the invitation she had proffered for dinner. He was a good couple of hours early, but she didn't care.

"Scarlett," he said and nodded at her. He then turned to the intruder. "And you must be Mr Simpson. Henry Hamilton," he said and shook the man's hand. Simpson looked surprised but quickly collected himself.

"I was just explaining to Mrs Butler here that she has to take a horse that her husband bought at the weekend but she said that she had no need for it any more. I explained though…" Henry thrust a cheque towards Simpson.

"This should settle the debt," he said, firmly. Scarlett couldn't see the details of the cheque but she saw her husband's unmistakeable signature. How had Henry obtained the cheque?

Simpson hesitated as he looked at it.

"How do I know that this cheque is good for the money, sir?"

"Good Lord. Does this look like the sort of house that its occupants wouldn't be able to honour a cheque? You're offending me and no doubt my niece too."

"Well…" he looked at it again. "I guess it'll be fine."

"And if you have any problems, please come and see me next time." Henry thrust a business card into Simpson's blistered hand. Simpson stood still, staring at Scarlett and then at Henry.

"Is there anything else you wanted?" said Henry, impatience creeping into his voice.

"No…I…"

"Good. I'd thank you to leave then as I need to speak to my niece in private," Henry said in his authoritarian tone. "Mammy, please escort Mr Simpson out."

"Yessir," said Mammy as she led the vendor out of the parlour. Henry looked at Scarlett and then walked over to the only comfortable chair in the parlour and sat down.

"Now that's all settled, Scarlett, you and I need to talk. Could you get me a glass of Rhett's whisky please? I've had quite a trying day and I could do with a drink."

Scarlett obediently obliged and poured him a healthy measure. He sat sipping the whisky, looking at Scarlett, who had positioned herself on a couch opposite him.

"Rhett visited me this afternoon. Actually, he visited me twice today. This morning and then this afternoon." At the mention of her husband's name, her heart started beating faster. Was he still in Atlanta?

"Well, that's good for you," she said abruptly and then added, "Wade should be home from school soon, Uncle Henry, and then we can…"

"Scarlett," he said gruffly. "You can change the topic of conversation when I have finished what I came here to say." Scarlett felt herself blush at his reprimand. Even though they shared no common blood, he was the closest she now had to a father and he had always liked and admired her, not least because she didn't possess the simpering sensibilities that were typical of the usual Southern womenfolk . He was the one man, apart from Rhett and Gerald, who had never been scared of her famous temper.

"Sorry, Uncle Henry," she murmured, before she found herself tensing up, nervous about what he was going to say. She was in no mood to be scolded, or to pick over the ashes of her marriage.

"I've not always liked your husband or always seen eye to eye with him, but over the years he's been very good to this family. Melanie obviously thought the world of him, and I know Beau and Wade are very fond of him. And he obviously saved Ashley's neck just after the war." He paused as he considered all of Rhett's good deeds. Then he added, "He's a good man, Scarlett."

"It's a pity he's not a good husband," retorted Scarlett quickly and quietly and Henry shot her a look. She cast her eyes down to her hands. She was twisting her wedding rings, the enormous emerald oscillating on her third finger of her left hand.

"As I was saying, Scarlett," he said, unwaveringly and making it clear he had no time for tittle tattle comments, "He came round to see me this morning. Unexpectedly. He looked like he hadn't been to bed but he was stone cold sober. He didn't talk about anything other than your and the children's welfare – but I am no fool, Missy, and something obviously was up."

"Uncle Henry…" began Scarlett, miserably. She felt the need to defend herself but where would she begin?

"He said he had to go away again. I asked him why when he had only just got back and he said he had to go to Charleston to see his mother and his sister. His sister hasn't been well or something." For a man who hated falsehoods from others, Rhett was surprisingly good at speaking them himself, Scarlett thought. "And that brings me to the first reason I am here, Scarlett. He has asked me to ensure that you have enough money, that the children never go without and he wants to make sure your finances are all in order. He hasn't set any spending limits. He wants you to have access to a lump sum…"

"I don't want his money, Uncle Henry," said Scarlett in a business-like tone. "I have the store and some savings. I don't need…"

"Scarlett, do be sensible! Do you have any idea what it costs to run a house like this?"

"No but…"

"Exactly. Rhett has always just paid the bills and he wanted to make it clear that he will continue to do so."

"I won't touch his money, Uncle Henry. I don't want anything more from that man." Old Henry Hamilton looked at Charlie's widow. Pain and tiredness were clearly etched on her face. Scarlett's omnipresent sparkle was gone and she looked almost as ill as Rhett had looked when he had seen him a few hours earlier. But not quite.

"I'm not sure what has happened Scarlett but I can guess. But there is no need for this obstinacy or pride. As a husband, he has a duty to provide for you…"

"But…" Scarlett began but she knew she was losing this argument.

"….whether or not he lives with you." Well, there was no beating about the bush with Uncle Henry, Scarlett thought as she cringed at the comment. But better for him to be the first to speak so baldly of her situation - she would have to face many more such remarks over the coming weeks.

Scarlett sighed, got up and went over to the sideboard and poured herself some freshly squeezed lemonade that Mammy had brought in.

"Did he say anything else? Did he…" She paused. She hated the thought of that word and all the dreadful connotations and injury it conjured up.

"Did he what Scarlett?"

"Did he talk about a…divorce?"

"No. The word never crossed his lips. Neither did mention of a formal separation agreement. You do know though that he could move to Indiana and divorce you very quickly? If he wanted." Scarlett looked up from the pitcher she was pouring from.

"Indiana?" she said, her voice trembling.

"Yes, Indiana. I don't mean to worry you unnecessarily but I want you to be fully aware of your potential predicament. Not that I think he would although we all know he can be unpredictable at times."

Without realising it, the tears that Scarlett had been fighting all morning, slowly started falling. "I…told…him…I…didn't…want… a…divorce…."

The old portly gentleman got up from his chair and went over to where his niece was standing. "Now, my dear, I think I've probably said too much." He patted her on her hand. "And really, I have no business talking about any of this with you, although if you had been my daughter and he my son-in-law, I would have knocked your heads together a long time ago. All I am trying to say is that I think it would be insanity to refuse his financial help and I want you to think of your children's future."

"I do think of my children's future. All the time. They are all I have left and I don't want them to have the struggles I have had."

"Well, then, let Rhett be generous with his money." But something in Scarlett had stirred after it had lain dormant for so many years. She did not want this man to buy her anymore, buy her cooperation. Suddenly, she remembered his retort from ten years' earlier when he had brought her that lush, green, velvet bonnet. _Always remember I never do anything without reason and I never give anything without expecting something in return. I always get paid._ She didn't want to be indebted to him and suppose…suppose he then used his monetary benevolence to manipulate her into giving him a divorce?

"I'm sorry, Uncle Henry. But I think I can manage on my own – without his money. Maybe I can move to a smaller house," said Scarlett. "The children and I rattle around in here and …the house depresses me."

"It's not the happiest or most elegant house, Scarlett. I'll grant you that. I was always surprised that Rhett allowed you to build it in this style. He always seemed to have good taste. But you can't move house. I don't want my great-nephew to have to battle any further gossip. His position in Atlanta's society is already tenuous after all your escapades and what with Rhett's departure… If you moved, then he would find it even harder to avoid the gossip that circles round you and by proxy, him. And it will signify to everyone that your marriage really is over, even if technically you haven't had the piece of paper dissolving it."

So, she was trapped. And she wasn't sure who she could blame except herself and her husband. She put the glass of lemonade to her lips and gulped it down, relishing the cooling sensation on her vocal chords that still stung from the trauma of last night.

"Did he say anything else?"

"No. He left it at that. But then he came back an hour ago, on his way to the train station…" So he was leaving Atlanta. Which was what she had wanted, wasn't it? "Only briefly though. He had remembered Simpson and the horse and that he hadn't paid for it when he struck the deal in Jonesboro on Saturday. Sensible – as I suspect Simpson would have just run off with the money without giving you the horse. Anyway, your husband was most insistent that I come round immediately with the cheque. And it appears I came just in time. A most unsavoury character and Rhett's description of him was spot on." Henry drained his glass and put it down on the sideboard. "And that brings me to the final thing I want to raise with you. Scarlett, if you are to live on your own, in this large house, I suggest you hire more male servants. You can't just rely on Pork and some stable boys and gardeners who come and go as they please."

"I'm fine, Uncle Henry. Didn't I manage just fine at Tara? We only had Pork then…and my father…"

"That was because you had no choice," he barked at her. "You have choice now, Scarlett, and I would like you to exercise it appropriately." Then he leaned towards Scarlett, who was eyeing him suspiciously and said, "You do have a gun, don't you?"

"I haven't owned a gun since I married Rhett," replied Scarlett.

"That's what he thought. There's a gun in Rhett's bedside cabinet. I suggest you…"

"Uncle Henry! This is Atlanta – not some deserted country house. I'll be fine."

Henry placed a firm grip on Scarlett's arm. "I don't doubt that you will be fine but your husband was quite concerned. You should take it and keep it in your room until at least you reassess your staff needs…"

"Which will only cost more money! No, I'll be fine, Uncle Henry…" Her uncle by marriage shook his head, exasperated by Scarlett's strong will.

"Well, I intend to keep the situation under review. We can discuss this again another time."

As Scarlett poured Henry another whisky, she heard Wade and Beau walk through the door. She hadn't expected Beau tonight but that didn't matter. "I'm in here," she called out, as they came scampering in.

"Uncle Henry!" the cousins exclaimed in unison. For all his irascibility, he was a favourite with both boys. They ran and hugged him before doing the same, only slightly less enthusiastically to Scarlett.

"Wade, why don't you take Uncle Henry and Beau out to the stables. Red Hunter should be there already. I'll go and get dressed and then we can have some afternoon tea before dinner." The three of them exited and Scarlett went back up to her bedroom with Uncle Henry's words ringing in her ears.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you to all of those who have read and reviewed. I really appreciate it. I often wonder if I have lost readers along the way – and that is of course fine – but if you stop reading, could you let me know why as I do want to improve and engage with my readers!_

_This is a slow chapter (again) but the pace will pick up. I have now mapped out the next 12 to 14 chapters to conclude the story but have to find time to write them! _

_If you have a moment, let me know what you think._

Chapter 17

It was the first time that Scarlett had hosted a sewing circle meeting and she had felt nervous all morning. She chastised Ella for failing to finish her breakfast, snapped at Wade when he innocently asked if he could go over to Beau's after school and was even short with Mammy as she helped her get dressed. Only Mammy retaliated, albeit silently and by giving her one of her imperious looks which immediately shamed Scarlett and kept her tongue and temper in check for the next couple of hours.

Scarlett would never have admitted it but today was one of the few occasions where she felt anxious about what people might think - about her, about her home and, above all, about her marriage. She knew that Henry Hamilton wouldn't have divulged the facts of Rhett's departure to anyone but Atlanta was a busy place, with many people and it would have been a miracle if no one had spied Rhett going to the train station, bags in hand. Her husband was hardly an inconspicuous man, thought Scarlett. And gossip spread in the town as quickly as a lighted match on a bonfire.

The reason he had given for his sudden need to leave Atlanta was plausible and one that she wouldn't likely be caught out on. Yes, that would do. For now at least. She would have to think about how to justify his prolonged absence, later – if the need ever arose. Maybe, by then, some other scandal would have arisen to divert attention away from the Butler marriage.

Minnie had been baking all morning and Scarlett had arranged for some freshly cut flowers to be delivered to her house– nothing too ostentatious – but she wanted her home to appear welcoming. Despite the plethora of rich crimsons and other reds that adorned her walls and flooring, she knew there was no warmth in her house.

Punctually, at exactly two o'clock, Maybelle arrived. "We could almost be twins!" exclaimed Maybelle, as she saw that Scarlett was wearing a pretty blue cotton day dress, a shade darker than the dress she had on, and had styled her hair in a similar fashion. She kissed Scarlett on her cheek before Scarlett led her into the parlour.

"Oh, it looks lovely," exclaimed Maybelle as she admired the flowers that had been scattered discretely round the room. She leaned in to one arrangement of honeysuckle and breathed in the sweet aroma.

"It's not too much…?"

"There can never be too many flowers, Scarlett. It looks gorgeous. And your front yard too - with all the apple blossom and jasmine bushes just starting to bud. Your Aunt Pitty was telling me only yesterday how you had spent much of the winter overseeing the replanting of your gardens."

"It kept me busy. It was something to do."

"Well, it looks perfect!" enthused Maybelle, whose own front yard only had a scraggly rosebush for colour.

"I'm not sure how many people are going to come," wondered Scarlett aloud, although many of the women that made up the circle had not been in Scarlett's house for so long that she suspected their curiosity would get the better of any spiteful attempts to snub her.

"Oh, I think most people are, dear Scarlett," reassured Maybelle. "India and your Aunt Pitty and my mother obviously. And then of course, Mrs Meade and Mrs Whiting. Oh, and Jane Elsing…" Scarlett sighed and walked over to the window, overlooking the front lawn. The sun was shining brightly outside and yet the heavy portieres blocked most of the light. Once upon a time, she had loved the rich wallpaper that hung in the reception rooms. She had felt that the interiors reflected her newfound wealth and status. But now, she found the colours oppressive, black even, and they did nothing to lift her desolate mood. Why had Rhett indulged her so much? He should have guided her, counselled her, instead of giving her the free reign that he had.

"Do you think we have enough chairs in here, Maybelle? Or shall I ask Pork to bring some in from the dining room?"

"Everything looks fine, Scarlett. You have a beautiful home."

Scarlett smirked. Perhaps if it had been more of a home her husband wouldn't have found it so easy to leave. "Do you think so? I'm not sure it is much of a home. Rhett's always hated it."

"Well…I…" stammered Maybelle, who seemed embarrassed by Scarlett's forthrightness. "You know what men are like."

Scarlett smirked again but didn't say what was really on her mind – that she had discovered that she had no idea what men were like otherwise she wouldn't be in her current plight. Instead, she said, "Well, I built this house when I was a young bride and now, approaching middle-age, I guess my tastes have changed. I've been thinking of redecorating. It's so dark in here. You wouldn't know what a beautiful day it was outside with the gloominess inside this room. I want something light and airy," she said and then added, as the sentiment struck her. "A bit like Tara."

"Why don't you, Scarlett? I mean, why don't you redecorate? What with everything you went through last year, I expect a change would do you and Captain Butler good."

"Oh, I don't know," mused Scarlett as she thought about the cost and her assertions to Henry Hamilton that she wouldn't take any of her husband's money. "Maybe another time. What I really need is to get away from Atlanta for a while – but what with the store, Wade's schooling…" she drifted off as she also thought of her promises to Melly to look after both of her men.

"You could go away in the summer when Wade isn't at school. Captain Butler is always travelling isn't he? Perhaps you could go with him. He seems to travel to interesting places."

"You know Maybelle, I think my husband prefers to travel alone. I think he would find me an inconvenience."

"Oh Scarlett! You are funny. Your husband plainly adores you. And he's so proud of you! It was so sweet to hear him at dinner talk of…"

"He might have once," interrupted Scarlett. "But…well, you know, things haven't quite been the same between us since Bonnie died. Since before then." The words came tumbling out before Scarlett realised what she had said and to whom. "What I mean is, that, well you know how Bonnie's death just destroyed Rhett," she amended. "It hurt me unimaginably too but he just stopped living." She paused, before she added. "I had no option. I had to carry on."

"I know you did. Sometimes, women are stronger than men at dealing with tragedy. Losing a child is the most painful thing any man or woman has to endure," said Maybelle quietly. Scarlett looked at her and then across at the lithographs of her three children on the table and, unexpectedly, she felt her eyes smart with unwelcome tears.

"It's quite a different grief to losing Mother or Pa," said Scarlett. "Not that that wasn't awful but somehow, the grief didn't drain me as much. But…" she stopped as she thought of her little girl who had been so full of life, had her whole life in front of her, had been so like her…and Rhett. "Well, I shouldn't dwell on it. But even now, the smallest thing can remind me of her and I have to use all of my strength not to cry. And it's been months! It's ridiculous!"

Maybelle smiled and took Scarlett's hand in hers, instantly communicating an understanding of her heartache. "It's not ridiculous, Scarlett," she said, softly. "It was ten years ago this February that we lost Marianna and yet sometimes it still feels like yesterday. And I cry too – not often but I do still cry. It is certainly not ridiculous to feel as you do. It is perfectly understandable." And then her voice choked and Scarlett saw her eyes, too, blur with tears.

"But the…pain…sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe from it all and yet of course, I have to carry on, because of Ella, because of Wade, because…" Her voice trailed off again. Because of who I am she thought. I can't crumble, I can't afford to crumble otherwise my whole family of cards will tumble down.

"I know, dear Scarlett. It is such an intense pain, so raw, so unlike anything else…"

Scarlett went over to the piano, thinking of how her misery had been exacerbated by Melly's death and Rhett's rejection. She picked up her black purse from where she had placed it earlier and took out her handkerchief. She turned her back on Maybelle as she dabbed her eyes and softly blew her nose. Then she turned round to face the one person in Atlanta, apart from Ashley, that she no longer felt she had to be guarded with. "It does lessen, doesn't it?"

Maybelle nodded slowly, locking eyes with Scarlett.

"Yes," she said simply. "It lessens. But it never goes away. Not completely. I mean having Raoul and then Napolean and then Anne-Marie, that all helped but they didn't replace Marianna. Even now, I still get that intense ache you talk of and it catches me when I least expect it."

"I wish we could have had more children," said Scarlett softly. "I'm sure it would have helped heal us both. You know how Rhett adored Bonnie and is so good with Ella and Wade. But I guess, some things aren't meant to be."

"Scarlett, you're still so young. You could have another baby," Maybelle said, her eyes smiling as widely as her mouth.

"Maybe," said Scarlett, not really believing it. Suddenly, the memories of the nights they had spent together flooded back together. Perhaps…no. She didn't really wish for a child to come of those nights. And how would she ever tell her husband? She was sure he would somehow blame her.

"I'll let you into a little secret Scarlett. It's early days but…well, Doctor Meade confirmed it yesterday. I'm going to have another baby." Scarlett looked at her new friend and wondered why she was spilling all these confidences.

"Oh Maybelle," said Scarlett, smiling genuinely. "What happy news."

"Thank you," said Maybelle, her eyes filled with happiness. "I'm not quite sure that we have room in the house but I guess you somehow find the room." Scarlett smiled forlornly as she thought of all the empty bedrooms in her mansion. If she had all of her family living with her, there would still be room for guests.

They were interrupted by Minnie bringing in the cakes and placing them on one of the side tables. After she had left the parlour, Maybelle asked quietly, "Scarlett, is Captain Butler at home?"

Scarlett looked at her and debated what of the truth she could tell her. Oh, how she wished she could unburden herself and do away with the pretence that everything was fine! But she wasn't yet ready to face up to her failings as a wife. And vocalising the debacle of her marriage would make things seem final. Permanent. How had this happened to her? How had she, the former belle of five counties, not managed to keep her husband? Even if he was Rhett Butler. "Actually, no. He's not. He had to go to Charleston yesterday. His sister…isn't well."

"Oh, I am sorry, Scarlett. He's only just got back after…" Maybelle stopped as she saw Scarlett cast her eyes down and start fidgeting with her rings. Her hostess was evidently not listening. "Well, you must come over for dinner some time whilst he's away and bring Wade and Ella with you."

"Hmmm – thank you. That would be nice." Then Scarlett looked at the clock that was ticking closer to half past two. The other members of the circle would be here soon. "Can I get you some tea, Maybelle?" asked Scarlett, ringing the bell for Minnie.

Before long, tea and fresh cordial had been brought in and as Scarlett poured tea for both herself and Maybelle, there was a knock at the front door. Scarlett subconsciously breathed in deeply – the afternoon was about to begin in earnest. She stood up and was relieved that the first attendees were India and Aunt Pitty.

"Auntie," exclaimed Scarlett as she kissed the plump, wrinkled face.

"It's so warm outside, my dear, I thought I was going to faint!" Scarlett looked at India and saw a smile start to form on her former foe's pale face. She smiled back, conspiratorially. Pittypat Hamilton would always be the most affected out of everyone by any inconvenience or circumstance.

"Auntie, let me take your bonnet," Scarlett offered as the old spinster fanned herself, her mouth twitching and perspiration rolling off her forehead.

"Thank you, dear Scarlett," and she untied her headpiece and gave it to Scarlett before she took out a handkerchief to mop her brow. "I'm so lucky India was with me. I just can't _bear_ the heat. It's so stifling!"

"Miss Pittypat, let me get you a cordial. It should help refresh you," said Maybelle, who had been standing back whilst Scarlett played the role of hostess.

"Oh, would you, my dear? That would be wonderful. I'm quite parched. India, what about you?"

Without looking at her aunt, India said, "I'll have one too, Maybelle. Thank you."

Before long, most of the old families of Atlanta were represented, tucking into the refreshments that Scarlett had provided and trying to catch a glimpse of the other rooms in the house that no one had deigned to cross the threshold of for years, or, in some cases, ever. Mrs Merriweather was one of the last to arrive and when she did, she looked harried and tired and had a dusting of flour on her hair that blended in with the grey and white strands that streaked her hair.

"Scarlett," Mrs Merriweather greeted, in her haughty and sanctimonious tone. She held out her hand and Scarlett took it.

"Mrs Merriweather," Scarlett replied defiantly, bracing herself for a barrage of questions. Nothing ever got past Dolly Merriweather and Scarlett thought that she probably only had to sniff the air of Peachtree Street to sense that there had been change once again in the Butler household. Maybelle, shadowing Scarlett, kissed her mother before Scarlett said, "How good of you to come. Maybelle was telling us how busy you have been at the bakery…"

"Never too busy to help out for a good cause, Scarlett," interrupted Mrs Merriweather, her voice only slightly warmer than the ice that floated in the pitchers of lime cordial. Scarlett forced a smile and guided her towards one of the more comfortable chairs in the room before pouring her a cup of tea.

"Is Captain Butler here?" Mrs Merriweather asked, as Scarlett handed her a steaming cup. Scarlett rolled her eyes and counted to five as she fought the urge to give one of the principal gossipmongers a piece of her mind. It was none of her business! And by the smug look on Mrs Merriweather's face, it was obvious that Mrs Merriweather already knew the answer to the question she had posed.

"No…he's…" Scarlett stammered.

"Mother, Scarlett was explaining earlier. He's had to go back to Charleston. His sister is unwell." Mrs Merriweather raised her eyebrows in evident disbelief.

"I see…"

"Now, Mother…" started Maybelle.

"I saw him yesterday going towards the train station. He didn't look at all like his usual groomed self."

"He had to leave urgently," cut in Scarlett.

"But…"

"Mother," said Maybelle, crossly. "Let's move on to why we are all here. We only have a couple of hours together and we have a lot of sewing to get done." Then, addressing the wider circle, she said calmly but with authority. "Ladies, all the threads and needles and materials are over there." She gesticulated to the makeshift sewing table she had set up in the corner of the vast parlour. Then she turned to her mother. "Mother, shall I get your sewing out of your reticule?"

"I'm quite capable, Maybelle."

Maybelle sighed, pulled up a chair next to Scarlett and Fanny and began appliqueing a cushion cover she had started the previous week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the last of her guests had gone, Scarlett ate dinner with Ella and Wade in the dining room, then said goodnight to them as they were rustled upstairs by Minnie. After managing to get through the sewing circle where everyone was pleasant enough – occasionally even warm towards her - her mood had plummeted. She felt so lonely and wished that Mammy was around, fussing over her, bossing her around but it was her evening off. A week ago, Rhett had been here, playing with the children, reacquainting himself with the Old Guard, regaining Mammy's good opinion and reminding Scarlett that she both loved and hated him. And now he was gone and he had left her unsettled, bereft and feeling more isolated than ever. She had been doing just fine until he had re-emerged from his self-imposed exile. Why, why, why had he decided to come back?

She looked around the large, impersonal room before her eyes stopped at the brandy that sat tempting her in the decanter but she knew it would only deepen her lachrymose mood. Instead, she reached across for the hot lemon that Dilcey had brought in for her, and sipped it whilst she watched the sun set over the garden and thought about her redecoration plans. As the afternoon had progressed, her mind had wandered from the frivolous conversations that her fellow seamstresses were engaged in, to thoughts of ripping down the wallpaper that closed in around her and tearing up the carpets. She thought wistfully of Tara, with its soft, light colours and materials and its whitewashed walls that had always brought her so much comfort. Then she thought of her current house which she had been so keen to use to impress everyone with but that now only left her feeling cold and empty. She could make changes to her house if she really wanted to. She could replace the rich carpets with oak floors and scatter thick wool rugs to provide warmth in the winter evenings. She could replace the red velvet portieres with cream, silk curtains that could flutter around open, sash windows in the spring breeze and waft the scent of jessamine and apple blossom into the house. She could paint the interior walls ivory or the colour of cornsilk, and break up the vast expanses with paintings of trees and flowers – even of her children. She could try and make her house a home.

She thought about Uncle Henry's visit yesterday afternoon, when he had warned her about the costs of maintaining her lifestyle. If she was truly sincere about renovating her house, she would need money. Maybe she had been too hasty in rejecting money from her husband – after all, he _owed_ it to her. But there was no way she would retract anything she had said. She wanted to send a message to her husband that she didn't need him or his money. She was as through with him as he was with her.

She went into the parlour and took out some paper and her fountain pen from the bureau and jotted down some ideas of renovations and her estimate of the costs. When she added the sums up, she realised she would need a couple of thousand dollars at a minimum. She sighed. The store yielded that only every three to four months – if she was lucky. And she had to live, and pay the wages of her staff and Wade and Beau's school fees, and the livery costs for the horses and replenish Aunt Pitty's kitty every now and then and…the list went on.

Suddenly, she remembered the mills. Only eighteen months ago, she had sold her stake in them for quite a hefty sum and Rhett had squirreled it away in an account for her at one of his banks. She had completely forgotten about that money but now, for the first time since she had sold her stake in them, she was glad she no longer had the mills. She could use the money and have some left over without touching a cent of the "lump sum" that Rhett had apparently conferred on her. With her spirits lifted, she started adding to the list of changes to the house she wanted to make. Then, she went back over them and crossed some out. She couldn't afford to fritter money away – not when her future was so uncertain.

After a while and with the light fading and the candles burning low, she felt her eyelids get heavy. She picked up the newspaper that was delivered to the house on a daily basis but never read, and an old copy of Godey's Ladies Book that she had subscribed for at the behest of Mamie Bart, and went upstairs to bed. As she reached the door of her bedroom, she glanced down the hallway and her eyes stopped at Rhett's door. Then she laughed to herself. It wasn't his door anymore and if she was going to redecorate, she could expunge his presence from the house too. It would be cleansing, final, therapeutic.

She opened her door and as she did, she thought she heard some footsteps downstairs. She stood still, listening, alert. Then she heard the footsteps again. It's probably Pork she thought. Or Minnie. But the noise had unnerved her and remembering her conversation with Uncle Henry about a gun, she walked down the hallway towards her husband's room. She opened the door and stepped in to the empty, soulless room which was now devoid of any remnants of his personality. There was no longer even the lingering smell of his cologne or cigars.

She walked over to his bedside cabinet and opened it. There, as he had prescribed, was a revolver but, lying underneath it, was a small, beautifully wrapped gold package tied with green velvet ribbons.

Curious, she picked it up and saw, tucked behind all the ribbons and bows, a small envelope with her name on it written in her husband's handwriting. She extracted the envelope, careful not to destroy the elaborate packaging and slit it open with a paper knife. Inscribed on the card was a simple message "_Because, despite everything, I still carry the colour of your eyes well in my mind_. _Happy Christmas"_. Despite her hatred for her husband, she felt her heart start to beat wildly. She opened the box, no longer caring if she destroyed the packaging, eager to see what gift her husband had bestowed on her, even if it was over three months late. When she reached the tissue paper and felt a hard object buried within it, she carefully placed the contents on the soft cushioning of the bed before she opened it out to reveal a beautiful hair comb with black pearls and emeralds encrusted on it.

She picked it up and ran her fingers across the jewels. Even in the dim light that was emitted from the flickering candles in the hallway, she could see it was exquisite. He must have bought this in Europe, when he was travelling, she thought, for the packaging bore an unpronounceable French name. Why had he not given it to her before he had left? Or when he had handed out his presents to the children and Mammy on that first afternoon of his arrival? She sat looking at it as the moon rose higher in the sky and didn't realise until she tasted the salty tears that trickled down her cheeks that she had begun to cry.

She sat on the bed, thumbing the gift and card as it lay in her lap and felt the raw pain that she had earlier described to Maybelle, except this time she wasn't thinking of Bonnie she was thinking of her husband. Even though he was hundreds of miles away, he could still torture her. Why had he given her this gift when he didn't love her? Out of guilt? To torment her? Then, she lay back on the bed, shut her eyes and thought back to the last time she was in the room, when she had come perilously close to humiliating herself. Finally, she thought of their last conversation and with tears once again pricking her eyes, she sighed deeply, kicked off her slippers, loosened her stays and curled up amongst the covers and fell asleep.

_I always thought Scarlett was amazing with how she carried on after Bonnie's death – and I don't think it was because she wasn't hurting. I think of MM's line "Everybody was appalled at the seeming ease with which she had recovered from Bonnie's death, never realising or caring to realise the effort that lay behind that seeming recovery." I always thought it was a pretty false recovery…_


	18. Chapter 18

_Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted – I came down with a bad dose of 'flu and had a headache for about a week. Apologies in advance that there is no Rhett in this chapter – I wanted to focus on Scarlett growing as a woman._

Chapter 18

Scarlett's sabbatical from the store lasted until the following Monday. By the weekend, she was bored and ready to start at Kennedy's again. Staying at home had done nothing to vanquish her loneliness or maintain her sanity and, whilst she had been trying to spend time with her children, if she had to play with Ella and her dolls any more, she would scream.

"Good morning, Hugh," Scarlett said as she walked into the store just after it had opened. Kennedy's was like a refuge for Scarlett and never more so than over the last few months. In some ways, she had found it more therapeutic than the spas she had been accustomed to frequenting in Marietta. It was as though, as soon as she walked through the front door of the store, she could forget her personal issues and become Scarlett Kennedy again - even though it was a moniker she had not used for seven years.

"Good morning, Miss Scarlett," said Hugh as he heard her greeting. He barely glanced up at her, too immersed in putting the finishing touches to a clumsy display of earthenware pots and bowls. Scarlett stopped and looked at it and inwardly grimaced at the sight. He had no style and she knew that she would have to spend time re-arranging it before she left for the day. Usually, Sarah would have put the display together but she was in the country, visiting her family for the week. If he wasn't the son of Mr and Mrs Elsing, the brother of Fanny and so entrenched with the Old Guard, she would have fired him long ago.

"'Morning, Miss Scarlett," chirped Emma Burr, whom Scarlett had hired a few months earlier on a part time basis. She was an amiable girl just shy of twenty and despite her plain looks – she had the same washed out and mousy features as her distant cousins India and Honey Wilkes – her effervescent personality ensured she was never without a beau.

Scarlett walked through to the office and closed the door, a bit too purposefully, for some papers that she had tacked to her noticeboard fell down. She needed some peace and quiet to focus on her books and, with the door shut, hoped it would prevent interruptions. If she was to live off her own money, she couldn't afford to neglect the books as she had done after Bonnie died. And then again when Melly had died.

She pulled out the pile of invoices, delivery receipts and opened up the ledgers, and began her work, checking the figures, annotating where necessary, all the while working against the constant low hum of voices and footsteps in the background, broken every now and then by Emma's high pitched, grating laugh. Good, she thought. At least business wasn't suffering, even if she hadn't given it her full attention of late.

She worked in the airless cupboard that doubled as her office until midday and then, with her back aching from stooping over the papers, she stood up and walked into the store. The place was swarming with people – it was much busier than she had seen it in weeks – and she was suddenly irritated that Hugh hadn't asked her to help serve customers, conveniently forgetting that she had had the door shut to prevent that very occurrence.

"Good afternoon, Scarlett," said Mrs Meade who was making her way to the front of the shop with her arms laden with goods, including four earthenware bowls. "I hadn't realised how…competitive your prices were."

"Erm…thank you," said Scarlett, bemused by the comment, but forcing a smile nonetheless. Kennedy's had always been competitive – it couldn't afford not to be. She watched Mrs Meade go to the till and Emma take her money.

"What a wonderful selection of goods you have here, Scarlett," exclaimed Mary Bonnell as she too shuffled past Scarlett to pay for the numerous pots and pans she was clutching in her hands. Scarlett gave her a puzzled look – the wares she was selling were no different to those she had sold over the last eight years.

"Shall I take some of those…?"

"Oh no. I'm fine. I think I can manage," she replied, sidling along to the front counter. "Oh, and thank you for hosting the sewing circle. It's my turn this week and I am still trying to figure whether it would be rude of me to ask your Minnie to bake her lemon cake again." Mary looked at Scarlett and Scarlett realised that Mary wasn't just being polite in her praise of Minnie's baking.

"I can ask her if you want me to," said Scarlett quickly, taking up the opportunity to ingratiate herself with Mary at no real cost to herself. "It won't be any bother."

"Would you? That would be very kind of you. I'm afraid Queenie's cooking is just not on a par with Minnie's."

Scarlett smiled, knowing that her motive was not driven out of kindness. "Consider it done, Mary. I'll bring it with me when I come over." She couldn't quite believe that sewing meetings came round so quickly. They bored her to tears but if she was to continue living in Atlanta, then she would have to grin and bear them – as well all the other tedious functions that came with being accepted by the Old Guard. Not that she really felt accepted. People tolerated her presence rather than welcomed her and they certainly didn't hold out open arms for her as they had for Melanie Wilkes all those years ago when Melly had first returned to Atlanta after the war. Yes, she had successfully fought for a tentative position on the periphery of the Old Guard, but Scarlett never forgot her place in the hierarchy of the old Atlanta families, nor did she ever really feel that the position she held was anything other than one bestowed on her out of loyalty to the memory of her dead sister-in-law. But she didn't really care. She might not form part of the inner bosom of the Old Guard – and neither would she want to - but hopefully she could do enough to ensure her children were invited to the parties and, later, balls, that mattered. She never wanted them to feel as ostracised as she had felt when she had married Rhett and had so blatantly fraternised with the Republicans and the nouveau riche. Now, as she looked back over the years of her third marriage, when she had pretended to herself and anyone who would listen that she didn't care about what the Old Guard thought of her, she had a much better understanding of what Rhett had been trying to achieve when Bonnie had been born and why it had mattered. And if he, the Scallawag scoundrel that he had been, could gain their good opinion, so could she.

Scarlett slowly walked around the store, bidding those of her customers that she recognised good afternoon and smiling at the other nameless faces. She could hardly walk round the store for the number of people that were in it. She looked around and saw that several shelves were nearly empty and when she got to the display of earthenware she was astonished to see that the stock had been depleted. It had all gone – save for a couple of chipped bowls – and even they were being scrutinised by would be purchasers.

She bent down to remove the slate on which the prices for the earthenware had been marked whilst mulling over what she could put in its place and then she made her way out to her office. She put the slate down on her desk and it was only then that she properly saw what was written on it. For some reason, even though each price seemed familiar, they looked… wrong. She rummaged through the pile of delivery papers that she had spent the morning checking off, and, when she found what she was looking for, she scanned it quickly, comparing it to what was on the slate. The prices she had been invoiced for the earthenware had been transposed onto the slate with no mark-up. She checked again – in case her eyes had been deceiving her - but there was no mistake. Her invoiced prices – the prices she had paid for the goods - were exactly the same as those marked on the slate.

She felt her heart begin to beat faster as she was confronted by the blatant idiocy of her staff. Oh Hugh was a fool! A stupid, stupid fool. How could he be so ignorant? She paced up and down her office, various thoughts rushing through her head as she figured out what to do. Hugh had no more sense than a child! She wanted to scream at him, berate him but the store was full of customers and even Scarlett realised that such a vocal display of her wrath would undo the pigeon steps she had made in being accepted. But then she thought of the lost money and how Hugh had almost certainly single-handedly wiped out the profits for the whole month, if not the quarter. How could he have done this to her! She had taken five days off and this was what she came back to! He was beyond inept. He would have to go. It didn't matter whose son he was or whose brother.

She walked out of the office and slammed the door behind her, indifferent to what her customers thought. Besides, at this rate, she wouldn't have customers as she would have no store. She marched towards the front of the shop, her heels clicking on the grainy, oak floor. She was trying to remain calm even though her whole body was trembling with anger. When she reached the front door, she turned the sign to "Closed" and then, above the general din and in a clipped tone, she announced that the store was shutting early for the day for a stock check and that the till was suspended.

As she spoke, Hugh looked up at her but Scarlett avoided his gaze. If she looked at him, she might just boil over and she wanted desperately to try and keep her temper in check. Briefly, she thought of Ellen and the various dismissals she had had to handle. How had her mother conducted herself when faced with incompetence, or worse, theft? She couldn't recall any of the words her mother had spoken - it was all so long ago – but she could remember the even and fair tone that she had used to pronounce her judgments as well as the fact that she had always conducted such dismissals in private – although she was never aware of the eavesdropping of her two eldest daughters.

Scarlett held the door open for her exiting customers, apologising to them for the inconvenience, trying to smile, her dimples belying the rage that, like steam in a kettle, was slowly building within her. Oh, if only the people would hurry up and leave! Why did they take so long to walk a few paces? When the last of her customers had left, she shut the door and turned the lock, but then she observed two women come from behind a large display at the back. She unlocked the door, opened it wide again and sighed, irritated at their dawdling. She started tapping her foot in annoyance, casting her eyes around the rest of the store to check that everyone else had left.

She smelled them before she properly noticed them – their cheap cloying perfume diffusing the air around them and as she wrinkled her nose and looked up she realised to her horror that they were not the normal ladies of Atlanta but two of Belle's whores. Their painted faces, provocative gait and tawdry clothing - all clashing reds and burgundies - gave their profession away, despite their flimsy attempts at respectability with their black woollen shawls draped modestly over their décolletage. She stood up straight as she, the wronged wife, locked eyes with the accomplices to Rhett's misdemeanours. Just in the manner they looked at her, Scarlett had an overriding sense that, at some point, they had entertained her husband. And now, they were on her premises! The gall of the women. Had they no shame?

They sashayed past her and as they did their wide skirts brushed against Scarlett's taupe day dress. She stiffened, her spine as straight as a rod, and caught their stares again. She felt sure they were looking on at her with pity – and she felt both incensed and paralysed for she couldn't say or do anything. Instead, she returned their stares with one of defiance, her chin jutting out proudly and her head held high. So what if they knew that Rhett had left her? She had asked him to leave anyway hadn't she? Besides, she might have lost a husband but at least she had had a husband to lose in the first place, whereas these women could only borrow other people's husbands and not even entertain them in their own homes.

Finally, as she shut the door behind them, Scarlett was alone with her two members of staff. She bolted the large lock and turned round to face them but, sensing Scarlett's wrath from several feet away, they had begun busying themselves. Hugh was at the till, counting the money and Emma was tidying and putting order back to some shelves.

"I need to talk to you both," Scarlett pronounced, her voice flat and jaded. For once, she wished that she could abdicate responsibility, return home and curl up on her bed and go to sleep but she knew she had to deal with the situation now and putting it off would only make what she had to say harder. She bit her lip and then ran her fingers hard up against her cheekbones towards her hairline.

Hugh came towards Scarlett first, leaving the till drawer open and money on the side. He looked bewildered and confused and Scarlett noticed how his forehead was pockmarked with beads of perspiration.

"Miss Scarlett?" said Hugh, tentatively. He nervously rubbed his hands against his trousers before he abruptly stopped and placed them in his pockets.

"Who…" Scarlett paused as she tried to retain her composure. Her voice was dry, slightly breathless as though she had been stunned out of speaking. She tried again. She had to get this over with and deal with whatever fall out came from it. She was protecting her business after all – and protecting her children's inheritance. "Which one of you has been pricing up the goods in my absence?" she finally said. Her voice was surprising cool, ambivalent even.

"I did," said Emma, quickly but shakily. She had stopped adjusting the shelves and had moved to within inches from Scarlett.

"What?" asked Scarlett, shutting her eyes and then shaking her head, as though she hadn't quite heard properly.

"I did," repeated Emma.

"What...?" Scarlett rasped. "What do you mean you did? That's not your job. It's never been part of your job."

Emma looked awkwardly at Scarlett and then across at Hugh before she cast her eyes down to her feet. It was now her turn to wipe her hands down her front – whilst underneath her long fawn cotton skirts, she rolled her ankles backwards and forwards.

"Miss Scarlett, I…I…don't understand…," stammered Hugh. "What's happened?"

"What's happened? Half the merchandise in this store is priced incorrectly. That's what's happened. And it's been sold with the wrong prices on."

"Oh…." said Hugh, as Emma continued looking down. Out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett thought she saw a solitary tear glide down Emma's pale, unlined, youthful face.

"Oh…? That's all you can say? Oh? I leave you alone for a week and you lose me hundreds maybe thousands of dollars and all you can say is "Oh"?"

"What I mean is…"

"I know what you mean! I am just astounded at your incompetence…"

"But…I…did…it, Miss Scarlett," piped in Emma. "It's not Hugh's fault…"

"Yes it is! It is his fault! It's his responsibility," shouted Scarlett, all pretence of being a lady thrown out of the window. "All you had to do, Hugh, was run the store for five days whilst I took some time off and you couldn't even get something as fundamental and basic as pricing right. You've lost me a small fortune! Money this store can ill afford to lose. No wonder I have experienced such strange comments here today – everyone in Atlanta must think we are desperate to get rid of our stock or that Christmas has come eight months early!"

"But, Miss Scarlett…" pleaded Hugh wretchedly.

"Please…both of you…just leave." Scarlett's emerald eyes were now burning with fury but they avoided looking at her and instead, turned their eyes once again to the dusty floor. "I asked you to leave!" shouted Scarlett. She turned her body away and started towards the back office. "And Hugh, don't bother coming back tomorrow," she said, throwing the words out over her shoulder. "Or the next day. I'll settle your wages for the rest of the week but I don't think you can work here anymore." She glimpsed sight of his fat lip quivering and thought she saw some tears glisten in his eyes but she turned away. She didn't want to see anyone else's pain – not when her pain was still so raw. She continued walking towards the office, her small body shivering at the realisation of what she had done, and slammed the door so hard that one of the glass panes on the door cracked. Then she sat at her desk, surrounded by papers and began to cry. She hadn't meant for her temper to flare up but she just couldn't help it. After all, her livelihood was at stake. The store might have once been a toy whilst she had had Rhett in her life but now she was a single woman again – if not in name, in reality – its importance could not be underestimated.

After a while, she managed to compose herself and started listing all the goods that had come in to the store in the last week – or at least, since she had taken her leave of absence. Then, she went back out into the store and tried to calculate what was left of the new stock. It would take her weeks to build up the goods again. She pulled up a stool, sat down and started moving some old crockery around, all the while cursing Hugh. He had not only lost her money he had likely lost her reputation. Everyone would soon hear how Scarlett had fired him and she knew where the sympathies would lie. She could almost hear the commentary amongst the gossip queens. Poor Hugh Elsing and wicked, unfeeling Scarlett Butler.

"Miss Scarlett?" It was Emma.

"I thought I had asked you to leave for the day," said Scarlett, surprised to see such disobedience. She looked at Emma and then back to the shelf she was sitting in front of.

"You did but…seeing how we are almost related…well, I wondered if you would reconsider…about Hugh, I mean."

"There's nothing to reconsider…." snapped Scarlett, as she carried on moving the crockery around on the middle shelf.

"Well…I was hoping…you see Hugh and his wife are having a dreadful time with poor Charlie. Jane's struggling to feed him and they are both up all night trying to calm the little thing down. And last week was particularly bad and Hugh was so tired that I said I would come in early to price the stock rather than him." Scarlett stopped and lowered her clipboard so she could look at Emma without obstruction. "If anyone should be fired, it should be me," she added softly.

"This store doesn't make enough money to cover mistakes," said Scarlett. "I've made my decision."

"But…"

"Emma, this really isn't any of your concern."

"But, Miss Scarlett. He _needs_ the job. Where else do you think he will get employment? And he's worked for you for so long. Surely, everyone is entitled to make a mistake." Scarlett looked hard at Emma and sighed. A few months ago, she would probably have fired Emma too for her impertinence. How dare she tell her how to run her business! But there was something in her voice and her wide brown eyes that reminded her of Melly. Melly might have defended Scarlett when she demoted Hugh from his job at the mills but Scarlett was pretty sure that she wouldn't have allowed an old friend to become jobless especially when employment was so hard to come by. "Will…will…you…at least think about it…?" pleaded Emma.

Scarlett shook her head and sighed again. "I'll think about it," said Scarlett, with an element of defeat creeping into her voice. "Now, please go home. I have a lot to get through and would prefer to work on my own."

Scarlett worked solidly until six o'clock, barely stopping to even sip on the stale cordial that she had poured herself at the beginning of the day. She had gone through the stock, re-marked where appropriate, re-stocked the empty shelves and calculated that she had probably only made a five hundred dollar loss as a result of the error. By the time she was locking up the front of the store and pulling down the shutters, she was starving and felt shaky – she hadn't eaten anything all day. And she was exhausted.

"Scarlett?" called out a familiar, male voice. She almost jumped out of her skin.

"Oh, goodness, you surprised me," said Scarlett as she looked up to see Jack Picard, perched in René's dilapidated cart outside the front of the store.

"Sorry Scarlett. I didn't mean to. I saw you lock up – I just happened to be passing - and I was wondering if I could escort you home?" He smiled kindly at her, and for once she saw no evidence of flirtation.

"No, thank you," she replied automatically. "I've got my…" but she stopped. Her day had started so many hours ago that she had forgotten Pork had dropped her off at the store and that she didn't have her own transport to get home. She thought of her feet, swollen from standing most of the day and her aching back. She had no energy to walk to the end of the street, let alone the eight blocks to get home. "Actually," she smiled, "that would be lovely. I've had a very tiring day." He gave her his hand to steady herself as she climbed into the wagon. She knew she must look a sight. She had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror at the back of the stock room and her hair was all mussed and she had a dirty streak down the side of her face that she hadn't bothered to wash off. But maybe the dusk light would obscure her imperfections.

"I thought you had left Atlanta," said Scarlett as he seized the reins.

"No. Not yet. I'm going back to Louisiana for a short break soon to check on the saloons but I'll be back in Atlanta for the summer. It's slightly cooler here and I've enjoyed spending time with René. We practically grew up together but then when the war came, we drifted apart. We each had competing interests – him, marriage and me…well, I wanted to see a bit of the world. Anyway, I'm not finished in Atlanta yet. For one thing, I haven't finished sourcing materials and Atlanta is better connected than most places for that sort of thing."

"Oh, I see," replied Scarlett as she tried to stifle a yawn. They sat in silence as they made the journey to Peachtree Street. Scarlett's head pounded with tiredness and she felt too fatigued to try and make polite conversation. Whether Jack sensed this or was himself caught up in his own thoughts she didn't care – she just wanted to get home, close her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

It was only as he pulled up outside her mansion that she wondered how he knew where she lived. She refrained from asking but instead, with his words about "sourcing materials" coming back to her, she said, "I'm thinking of redecorating some of the rooms in my house but I am at a loss as to where to start. With your knowledge, perhaps you might be able to help me. Or at least point me in the right direction." A coy smile started to form on his face.

"It would be my pleasure to help out, Scarlett. I can certainly help you get the best prices and..." She stopped listening as she reflected on his comment of getting the best prices. "Scarlett?"

"Sorry Jack," she said, this time unable to stifle a yawn. "I think I'm too tired to even conduct a conversation coherently. Thank you for the ride and I'll see you around. Good night." She turned to go but as she did, he caught her arm and then, without taking his eyes off her, he lowered his lips to the lily white skin that covered her hand and kissed it.

"Good night, Scarlett. And let me put together some suggestions for your redecoration. I certainly can advise you on materials. And labour." Scarlett withdrew her hand and smiled before climbing down from the cart.

"Good night," she said again, before she walked up the path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett had dinner with Wade and Ella but the children barely spoke to her – they could sense that their mother was distracted and even Ella realised that it would be best to keep quiet and postpone her questions for another time.

After they had finished eating and when she had said good night to the children she began to think about what Emma had said. Perhaps she _had_ been too harsh on Hugh and, just as she had once only cared what Melly had thought of her, now she was overcome with concerns about what Maybelle might think when she heard the story. Maybelle and Fanny's friendship was deep and went back to early childhood and if Maybelle hadn't heard about Hugh's sacking by now, she would almost certainly hear of it by Wednesday – the day of the next sewing circle meeting. And, as she had once relied on Melly's good standing in Atlanta to manoeuvre her way amongst the respected older families in Atlanta, now she needed Maybelle and her friendship.

"Dilcey?" said Scarlett sipping on some hot tea as Dilcey cleared the dishes.

"Yes'm?"

"Do you know anyone who could be a wet nurse?"

"A wet nurse?" Dilcey eyed Scarlett suspiciously. "Miss Scarlett…"

"Not for me!" exclaimed Scarlett, mortified at the thought. "For Mrs Elsing. Mrs Jane Elsing. I understand that she's struggling to feed little Charlie and I was wondering…well, if you know of someone, can you let me know."

"Well, Miss Scarlett. Der's l'il Jeanie at ma church. I 'spect she cud help."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes'm."

"Does she live close by?"

"On Marietta."

"I tell you what Dilcey – can you go and ask her now?"

"Now?" Dilcey's eyes opened widely, a luminous white against her ebony skin.

"Yes. Now. And if she can help out, bring her back here tonight. I'd like to sort it out this evening if I can. Ask Pork to drive you in the carriage."

"In the carriage?" whispered Dilcey. She had never been in the carriage without her mistress and even then, those occasions had been rare.

"Yes, in the carriage," snapped Scarlett, suddenly irritated that everything she said was being parroted back to her.

"Yes'm."

Within an hour, Dilcey was back at the Peachtree Street mansion with Jeanie in tow and a half hour after that, Scarlett was standing on Hugh and Jane's front porch with Jeanie beside her and preparing an apology.

The door answered and Jane Elsing was standing in front of Scarlett, holding her youngest child, red faced with gloopy eyes and swaddled in a blanket that had once been white, on her hip. Even Scarlett could tell Jane was exhausted.

"Jane," said Scarlett, wishing that she had been more sympathetic to Hugh earlier in the day and wondering what of her behaviour he had divulged to his wife.

"How can I help you, Scarlett?" Her tone was hostile and unwelcoming and Scarlett nervously cleared her throat.

"Well, I was wondering if I could speak to Hugh."

"I'm not sure he wants to speak to you."

"That may be," she said quietly and unflinchingly. "But… I think he might want to speak to me. If he knew what I was going to say." Jane pushed the door open and gestured for Scarlett to come into the house. Scarlett entered, leaving Jeanie on the front stoop. She had never been in the Elsing residence and it was even smaller then Ashley's abode on Ivy Street. It smelled of damp too and the paint was peeling off the windows. Jane walked up the stairs and called her husband's name. A few moments later, Hugh appeared.

"Miss Scarlett?" said Hugh. "I…wasn't…expecting you…"

"No, I don't suppose you were," replied Scarlett slowly. "Hugh. This isn't easy for me but I think I might have acted too…hastily…this afternoon and…well, I'd like you to still work for me…at the store. I'm sure that you'll never make a mistake with pricing again. I also know that if you had probably not been so tired, none of this would have happened. So," she paused as she wondered whether he would think her proposition an insult or a help. Well, it was all too late now so she might as well carry on. "I've…" She coughed nervously. "I've arranged for a wet nurse to work here in the evenings from seven o'clock in the evening right through to seven o'clock in the morning for a month. She's outside. Her name is Jeanie and Dilcey has vouched for her."

Hugh didn't say anything but just stood staring at Scarlett, his eyes wide and incredulous and his mouth a perfect circle.

"That's all I came here to say," said Scarlett, beginning to feel uncomfortable by his reaction. "So…you'll be at the store tomorrow morning?" Hugh nodded and managed to enunciate a "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening then. Jeanie is outside. I'll see myself out."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Over the course of the April days, rumours of Scarlett's generosity towards Hugh and Jane Elsing started to trickle through the Atlanta grapevine to the extent that, if anyone had heard of Scarlett's unceremonious firing of Hugh, they either conveniently forgot it or didn't believe it in the first place. For his part and because of his feelings of guilt surrounding the whole debacle, Hugh was reinvigorated by his work and silently thankful to Scarlett that she had given him another chance. He had a spring in his step and whether it was luck or because he was less tired, Scarlett noticed Kennedy's daily takings gradually increase.

The store was busier too – not just with people buying more goods but there were more people actually visiting the store – and when Emma asked about the possibility of increasing her hours, Scarlett readily agreed. Scarlett didn't realise that the increased footfall was because the store was fast becoming Atlanta's first port of call – especially amongst the Elsings' circle of friends and family – rather than as a source of last resort. And if Scarlett had been a fly on the wall of the Elsing residence, she would have smiled at the comments that now replaced the cattiness that had previously flown from Jane's mouth. Prior to Hugh's dismissal and then reinstatement, Jane was always the first to contribute to any conversation about Scarlett with disparaging remarks, and on more than one occasion had raised her eyebrows triumphantly at the scandal that was beginning to emerge concerning Captain Butler's absence from the marital home. Now, however, she found herself defending Scarlett and on one occasion told her mother to "hush up" when she had raised the question of why Captain Butler had once again abruptly left town. Not everyone was on Scarlett's side but, just as her last marriage had turned previously disapproving friends into obvious enemies, the tide had turned again and whilst people might have hesitated to declare a friendship with Scarlett, people were less inclined to think the worst of her. Especially when Scarlett quietly arranged for Jeanie to stay an extra month.

For her part, Scarlett continued to pass most of the mornings at the store but made an effort to be home for lunch so that she could spend part of the afternoon with Ella, her most neglected child. Ella still had the shortest attention span of anyone that Scarlett had ever known but gradually they got into a routine of spending time reading together and then playing the piano. Ella was a hopeless pianist with no musical ear but she appeared to enjoy the afternoons where it was just her and her mother and Scarlett too got something out of them even if, by mid-afternoon, she found herself checking the clock every five minutes anticipating Wade's arrival, when Ella's attention would turn towards her adored brother and Scarlett would be released. But Scarlett felt useful and needed by Ella – and not just in a material way. It was a feeling she liked.

Any spare energy and time that Scarlett had was put into redecorating the parlour, which she was relishing. It was a new start and, as she looked at her home with a more objective and critical eye, she wondered how she had ever thought it was elegant. True, fashions had changed, notwithstanding that it had only been seven years since she had built her mansion, but now she inwardly recoiled at the rich, velvet wall coverings and thick red carpet that swallowed up any character the house might otherwise have had. The image of Tara was firmly affixed in her mind as she oversaw the work and as the various reds were replaced with creams, soft lemons and mint green, she felt less suffocated by the room and only wished she had more certainty over her future so that she could use her savings to redecorate the entire house.

Jack was as good as his word, too, suggesting materials, shops for soft furnishings, as well as reasonably priced but reliable workmen. Frequently, he could be found in Kennedy's in the mornings perusing the stock and, whilst it vaguely crossed Scarlett's mind that his visits might be because of her, he was the epitome of good manners and never once made her feel uncomfortable as he had during the dinner at Maybelle and René's. He was just being a friend and helping her. Besides, she rationalised, she enjoyed his company and, with his labour and shop recommendations, she was saving money.

Scarlett did her best not to think about Rhett and for the most part succeeded. For the rest of April and the whole of May, he only plagued her thoughts for a few days and the catalyst had been the arrival of her monthly course. She had spent the afternoon with Uncle Henry discussing her finances and getting riled by his general guffaws and shrill exclamations that she was an "obstinate fool" for not touching the capital that Rhett had put aside for her and her children. As she was driven home by Pork, she felt a familiar ache in her back and realising what it signified, she sighed deeply, closed her eyes and allowed the dull pain to be absorbed by the plush cushioning in the carriage. She had been a week or so late and, despite all attempts to do the contrary, she had begun to imagine that perhaps a child _might_ come from the nights she had spent with her husband. The thought, whilst terrifying, gave her a warm feeling although she wondered how on earth she would ever tell him. Since Rhett had left, she had repeatedly sworn to herself it would be a dreadful mistake for her to become pregnant, but as the days had passed and Rhett's absence had become more permanent she had wondered if God was giving her one last chance at redeeming herself through motherhood - which might also _perhaps_ lead Rhett back to her. After all, a child would tie them together, whether he wanted that tie or not. And whatever he might have protested on that misty October night six months ago, she knew he wouldn't have been able to help himself; he would lose his heart a third time, however much he resisted.

With the realisation that she was not pregnant, came the realisation that Rhett had no reason to ever see her again. He had no need to seek out her company and as she mulled this over she felt an overriding sadness. He had been a permanent presence in her adult life, admittedly flitting in and out of it at times, but she had always known that their paths would cross again once he had helped her take her first tentative steps out of mourning at the Bazaar. Even when he had abandoned her at Rough and Ready, she had somehow known that he wouldn't be killed in the war and she would see him again. But now, as she thought practically and rationally, their lives, for so long intertwined, were effectively separate and it made her uncomfortable. It was only Ella and Wade that might provide a draw – and he had not been in touch with them since he had left at the beginning of April.

Over the next following days she walked around as though a rain cloud was hovering permanently over her. It was not just her melancholy over her disappeared husband but grief over missed opportunities. If she had had time, had not been beset with money worries, and then, when Bonnie had come along, if Rhett had not used their child as a pawn in their own fractious relationship, she could have been a good mother. Maybe not as great as Melanie or Ellen – but a good mother. But now, with Rhett out of her life forever and her decision that she would never agree to a divorce and therefore never be in a position to marry again, she knew that she would never have another child.

It was Mammy that got her out of her funk. She had skipped lunch for the third day in a row and Mammy, deciding to take matters into her own hands, had brought her up a bowl of chicken soup to try and tempt her to eat something and had found Scarlett crying quietly into her pillow. She put the tray down by her bed and told her firmly that she would not leave until Scarlett had scraped the bowl clean. Scarlett, disobedient, pushed it aside and told her that she was not well and needed to sleep but Mammy just sat on her bed. And sat. And sat. Before finally, exasperated, Scarlett bolted herself upright and complied with Mammy's order.

When she had finished, Mammy looked at her with those large black understanding eyes that had always had an uncanny ability to read her "precious lamb'" and placing Scarlett's right hand in her rough, worn hands, asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing, Mammy. I'm just tired, that's all." As much as she trusted and loved Mammy, she could never tell her exactly why she felt so low. Mammy started stroking Scarlett's hand, remaining mute and knowing that her mistress's dark mood was not because of tiredness.

After a few minutes, Mammy broke the silence and said, "Weez gettin' oler, Miss Scarlett. An' Ahs is worried about ma lil lamb widout Mammy ter tak care of her when Ah die."

"Oh Mammy!" scolded Scarlett, her voice strong and all pretence of sleepiness gone. "You're not that old. Don't talk about dying. Haven't I lost enough people recently without having to worry about losing you?"

Mammy looked deeply into Scarlett's eyes in an attempt to convey the truthfulness of her words. "Miss Scarlett, Ahs lived a long an' happy life an' Ahs 'spect Ah be meetin' ma maker soon."

"Please Mammy!"

"Ahs jes tellin' yo de truth. Weez all getting' oler!"

"But I don't want to get old, just yet," said Scarlett, thinking of her lost opportunities of motherhood, thinking of how far she had strayed from Ellen's teachings and yet how she still hoped to rectify the latter, before it was too late.

"Now, Miss Scarlett…"

"I don't though," and Scarlett felt some tears on her lashes. "I want to become more like Mother before I get old, before it doesn't matter anymore."

Mammy's mouth started twitching at the corners and then, unexpectedly, she let out a deep, hearty cackle, which shook her large bosom. "Miss Scarlett, yo's lak Miss Ellen. More den yo know."

Scarlett's eyes widened in disbelief at the untruth. "Oh Mammy, don't try and make me feel better. I am the complete opposite to Mother. I have none of her kindness, her sweetness, her calmness," she said and her voice drifted off as the reminder of her failings overwhelmed her and a horrible sobbing feeling began to rise in her throat.

"Well, mebbe yo aint got no calmness _yet _Miss Scarlett, but yo haf sum of her kin'ness. An yo def'n'tely has her braveness. Jes look at whad yo do for us at Tara durin' de war. Yo saved us from bein' buhnt alive by dem Yankees when dey cam to Tara. Even marrying Mist' Kennedy! Tha' aint so kin' to him but it wuz kin' to us. Yo saved us from losin' Ahs home! And savin' Master Wade's sword. An' sendin' money to Miss Pauline and Miss Eulalie. An' Miss Pitty. An' now, whad yo do fer Mist' Elsin'." Scarlett looked at her as she spoke. How on earth did Mammy know all of this? "Yo are lak Miss Ellen."

"Oh Mammy…"

"Don't yo' "Oh Mammy" me," said Mammy kindly, squeezing Scarlett's hand. "Yo have Miss Ellen's business brain too, don't yo? Mebbe yo ac' a lil harsh sumptimes, but yo as smart as Miss Ellen wid yer business. And…" Mammy let a pregnant pause fall between them as she deliberated whether to say the next thing that was on her mind. She took the middle road. "Well, Miss Scarlett, Miss Ellen wuz jus' as stubborn as yo sometimes. An' jus' as fiery."

"Mother was…a saint… Mammy…" said Scarlett recalling the time she thought her mother and the Virgin Mary were one and the same.

"Yes'm she wuz. But saints can be stubborn too. 'Specially when dey young girls." Scarlett wondered why Mammy was telling her all of this – revealing a different side to Ellen's personality than the beatific image her name always conjured up. Mammy, who had always been one of Ellen's staunchest defenders and allies. Just as she had been to Scarlett. But somehow it didn't seem disloyal. Scarlett had been so young, barely out of girlhood, when she had left home and her mother's influence. She had idolised her mother but, when she thought about it, she hadn't known very much about her.

"Why are you telling me all of this, Mammy?" said Scarlett finally after she had tossed around Mammy's words in her head for a minute or so.

"Because, Miss Scarlett, Ahs gettin' ole an' mebbe yo now need ter know sum of dis. An Ah knows how yo blame yerself fer lots of things. An' I know how yo loved Miss Ellen. In lo's of ways, yo are like Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen jes was bedder at keepin' calm and countin' to ten. Now Miss Scarlett, Miss Ellen wud be keepin' herself busy an' not wallowin' in sadness. An' yo shud do der same." And with that order Mammy got up from the bed, took the tray and left Scarlett to contemplate Mammy's words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One morning, in mid-May, India stopped by the store and invited Scarlett and the children for dinner at Ashley's to celebrate Aunt Pitty's birthday the following Tuesday. It was the first invitation the Wilkes's household had proffered since Melanie had died. India, who had ostensibly moved back into the Ivy Street house, her banishment long ago forgotten, saw how frequently Beau stayed to eat dinner at Scarlett's and, mindful also of the spontaneous dinner invitation from Scarlett that lay unreturned, made the suggestion to Ashley who had agreed.

So on Pittypat Hamilton's fifty-fourth birthday, Scarlett, Wade and Ella found themselves at Ashley's, toasting Aunt Pitty's good health and enjoying a family meal. Pitty, who was delighted that the schism in her family had healed, had one too many glasses of elderflower wine such that, by eight o'clock, India thought it best if she escort her home. "Children," India said, as she was gathering up her aunt's gifts and reticule, "Why don't you come with me and I'll treat you to an ice-cream from Sam's on the way back?"

The children's squeals of delight gave India her answer and within a few more minutes, the Ivy Street house had emptied and quietness had once again settled over it.

"It would have been Melly's birthday next week," mused Scarlett, as she sat with Ashley in the small corner of the parlour that served as the dining area. Once, their companionship unchaperoned would have ruffled the feathers of the Atlanta gossipmongers – India chiefly - and the irony that India had unintentionally orchestrated their time alone was not lost on Scarlett.

"Yes. She would have been thirty two."

"Just a couple of years older than me but so much wiser." Scarlett sipped on her coffee. "I still can't believe she's gone. I often wonder how the last eight months of my life would have turned out if she had been around." She smiled wryly as she thought of Melly. "Although she was never able to stop me making my mistakes."

Ashley laughed softly, put a glass of port to his lips and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. "You have always been so wonderfully headstrong dear Scarlett. In any case, I don't think you have made so very many mistakes."

"Oh, yes I have," chortled Scarlett, "I've made plenty of them," and she immediately started thinking of Rhett. She wondered what he was doing. He was probably in some far off city, partaking in his usual hedonistic pursuits, not even thinking of her – or if he was, he was probably calculating how he could extricate himself from their marriage.

"Well, we all have. Isn't that part of life? As long as we learn from them," he murmured and he looked intently at Scarlett, his eyes boring into Scarlett's. For a moment, Scarlett was wondering if he was thinking of their covert kisses and she felt the palms of her hands get all clammy. She hoped he wouldn't refer to them. It seemed so long ago, when she was another person and the thought of them now embarrassed her. Thankfully, he didn't but instead said. "Your gravest mistake was marrying Captain Butler." Scarlett almost choked on the hot liquid that she was drinking.

"Sorry?"

"Why did you marry him my dear?"

"Why? I don't know any more why I married him. I thought it was because he caught me at a weak moment, because he could offer me financial security, because I enjoyed his company...but lately, I have wondered if well, sub-consciously, I loved him. Even then." Ashley had just imbibed a mouthful of port and when he heard Scarlett's words, it was now his turn to choke.

When he had regained his composure, he spoke softly. "Scarlett, I don't think you loved him. You might have been..." He was struggling with finding the right word, the appropriate word but then decided on directness. "You might have been excited by him. But surely, no one as sweet and lovely as you could really love such a black hearted scoundrel as him."

Scarlett smirked. "Maybe I am not as "sweet and lovely" as you think, Ashley."

"Oh, Scarlett!" he exclaimed despairingly, "And he _never_ appreciated you."

Scarlett shook her head and a smile formed. "Yes he did. He appreciated me for exactly what I was and who I am."

"Well, now that he has disappeared again…" He stopped suddenly and looked at his companion. "He isn't in Atlanta any more, is he?" Reluctantly, Scarlett shook her head. "I have wanted to say this for a very long time my dear. You were far too good for him. And he has caused you nothing but pain, heartache and sorrow. You weren't meant to live a life like that. He's destroyed you over the years, particularly the last few months. You deserved so much better. I know Melanie was fond of him – and obviously I wasn't around during the war when he was courting you and spending time with you and Melanie – but in my view he's always behaved abominably towards you. It used to break my heart the way he would just up and leave for months…"

"He only did that once," snapped Scarlett. "And I think he had good reason to." Not that she would ever forgive him for abandoning her to face the storm that swirled around her after Ashley's party alone – but Ashley didn't need to know that. Her eyes suddenly came alive and Ashley looked at her, hesitatingly.

"Sorry my dear. It's just…" He paused for a brief moment, remembering the scandals surrounding the Butlers that he had heard whispered amongst the Old Guard. "I hated how he behaved towards you. And then, openly cavorting with Mrs Watling with no shame! No consideration for your feelings! It used to send shivers..."

"Ashley," interrupted Scarlett, her voice slightly raised. "Please don't go on when you really don't know _what_ you are talking about."

"But it was humiliating for you! I hated him for it. I used have to listen to the gossip about his er…night time activities, and it would break my heart, knowing how you must be feeling…"

"Oh for goodness sake, Ashley," said Scarlett irritably. "It was my fault! Rhett going to…" she hesitated for a moment thinking of her red headed nemesis. She despised describing her, despised the connotations that saying her name always conjured up. "If Rhett used to…visit…her…it was my fault." She almost added, "And yours too," but somehow held herself back.

"How was it your fault? He had been seeing her for years, hadn't he? Or so the men used to say. And I just find it appalling that he didn't think marriage should stop him."

"Ashley!" Scarlett exclaimed, exasperated. Did she really have to reveal to him all her personal failings to make him understand? "He did stop! He was faithful to me until…" She stopped again as she thought back to that afternoon. Her decision to cast him aside still made her cringe, even after all these years. "If I hadn't had some silly, childish, romantic notion in my head about us…about you…I wouldn't have…he wouldn't have…"

"Maybe I owe you an apology then," said Ashley abruptly and for the first time ever, Scarlett saw a hardness on his face that she had never seen before.

"Well, maybe. Maybe you do. But I was his wife. You say I deserved better. Didn't he deserve someone better than me? Someone who wasn't fixated on another man?" And then she added softly, because both their voices had begun to rise in volume. "Even if that man was you." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he avoided her gaze. She felt awkward talking about something that for so long had gone unspoken and which should have remained unspoken. "Sorry darling," she said, trying to smooth things over, trying to enact her promise to Melly. "Sorry, for bringing all this up. I'm…not …quite…myself at the moment. I guess…I...just…miss him."

"Oh Scarlett," Ashley said, an edge of defeat creeping into his voice and he buried his head in his hands.

"I do though," she said calmly. "I know you might find it difficult believing that I could, but I do. I love him – have loved him for years - but I was so stupid I didn't realise it. I just held on to the notion that you and I…that somehow we had this great romantic love that would transcend marriages to other people, hardship, war…when it was nothing of the sort…" She let her voice fade. She really didn't want to go over all of this. Not now. Not when everything was too late.

Ashley didn't say anything for a few moments but cast his eyes down to his glass and started twisting it round, mindlessly. Scarlett looked at him and saw a few strands of grey amongst his thick blonde hair and when he looked at her again, she saw some creases on his face that could no longer be discounted as laughter lines. Her childhood fantasy was getting older. Mammy was right. Everyone was getting older.

"I feel as though I am in a living hell," he said quietly, looking vacantly at her, his thoughts obviously focussed on his dead wife.

"Oh darling," she said, knowing that however much she missed Melly, his pain was far deeper. "Don't say that. You've got Beau. You've got India, Honey, me. Melly wouldn't want you to be sitting here indulging your grief. She would want you to be living!"

"I know. It's just so much harder than I had thought."

"Of course it is! But it's not even a year. It…will…get easier…in time," she said, remembering Maybelle's words of comfort when they had talked about their dead children.

"I feel guilty too. When…just a moment ago…you were talking about…us…well, I know I could have been a better husband."

"And I could have been a better friend to her," offered Scarlett. They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, before finally Scarlett spoke what was really on her mind, asked the question that she had wanted to ask but hadn't managed to quite do so on the night of Melly's death. "Ashley, why didn't you tell me that you loved Melly and not me years ago? Why did you keep me dangling like some…puppet…like some lap dog…?"

He sighed and once again buried his head in his hands, before he faced his questioner. His instinct was to avoid answering. "I don't know," he started after a few seconds of silence. "I guess I haven't behaved too well in all of this. I suppose…" He trailed off, as though he was searching for an honest but kind answer. "I suppose I loved you too. In a…different…way to Melly. But I still loved you. I love you now of course, as well." He caught her gaze and even though he didn't say it, she knew he only loved her as a sister. Then, he stood up and looked at the decanter of port that sat on the side but something stirred in him. He had avoided reality on too many occasions and he knew he owed Scarlett something more. He sat down again as she kept her eyes on him. "I guess I was…flattered…and confused. I've never been very good at affairs of the heart." Flattery? It was all about _flattery_ to him? He had been _confused? S_he felt an old irritation grow inside her but managed to curb her tongue.

He continued. "I admired – admire - you so much. How you managed to survive the war, run Tara and then become a successful businesswoman. You have this never-ending capacity to pick yourself up from whatever life throws at you and dust yourself off and continue. I wish I had some of your strength." His compliments dulled her earlier ire and she forced a faint smile. He was still like a little boy, lost without Melly, and she wasn't entirely sure what to say.

"I guess it didn't help that I couldn't help throwing myself at you," she said. "If only…well, I guess it doesn't matter now. What's done is done. We can't change anything."

"No we can't," he said sadly. "I wish we could." She looked at him, and his blue cobalt eyes that she had once found so piercing and intoxicating were now a flat grey. He looked lifeless, beaten, indifferent. But he couldn't be any of those things. He had a son who depended on him and for whom he had to live.

"You need to get out more, Ashley," she said after a while, draining the last dregs in her coffee cup. She began to think about her death bed promises to Melly and wondered if she was failing in keeping them. Was she doing enough to look after Melly's husband and son? She certainly kept an eye on them financially and had Beau round for dinner often times enough but…Suddenly, an idea came to her. Maybelle had come into the shop only yesterday and invited Scarlett, Wade and Ella to a family day out at the river. Fanny was going, as well as Hugh and Jane and their children and of course Jack. And as she had overheard the conversation, Emma received an invitation too. "Ashley," she said. "I've got an idea. Why don't you and Beau come to a picnic that Maybelle is organising on Sunday? We're going to the river. I'm sure she wouldn't mind and I think it will be good for you to mix more with the world. It'll be fun!" she enthused.

"Oh Scarlett, I don't know…"

"What is there to know? I'm not asking you to go to the moon with me. I won't take no for an answer. We'll take the horses. It'll be just like our picnics in Clayton County! I'll come round with the children at eleven o'clock and we can go together."

"Scarlett, I…" but just as he tried to object again, the front door opened and the children burst in, the remnants of chocolate ice-cream smeared all over their faces. With the discussion hanging between them, Scarlett turned to Beau and, knowing that Melly would be quietly approving of her manipulation, said, "Beau darling. Do you want to come to a river picnic on Sunday with us and Mr and Mrs Picard and your father?"

"Oh yes please Aunt Scarlett!"

"Well, that's settled then," she said and she smiled gleefully at Ashley.

_For those of you who thought/hoped Scarlett might be pregnant, sorry! I just think that if Scarlett is going to end up back in Rhett's arms, she needs to know that he wants her and isn't just coming back because of a baby! Rhett makes a sort of appearance in the next chapter and then finally a proper appearance in Chapter 21. Bear with me! _

_PS I did wonder if Scarlett would be so candid with Ashley but they are lifelong friends and I am sure they both felt guilty of what they did to Melly but were the only people they could discuss it with. _


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I may tweak this chapter at some point but I wanted to get on with writing it because I am as keen for the re-entrance of Rhett as I know some of you are. Thank you for your patience! I wish I could just write Rhett and Scarlett, Scarlett and Rhett but I think there are other important parts to my story which makes the Rhett-less chapters necessary to tell._

Chapter 20

On the day of the picnic, Scarlett woke early after a restless night's sleep. She had been on the periphery of slumber for an hour or so, in the midst of a particularly vivid dream. Not her usual, mist filled dream that had plagued her for years but a dream about Bonnie. Frightened of how it would end, she had forced herself to wake just as Bonnie had got on her pony.

She shuddered and shook her head, trying to shake away, in vain, the horrible memories that she knew would never leave her. She had always hated how the past could creep up on her, however hard she fought it, and she had enough memories of that tragic day without reliving them in her sleep. Why did she never have happy dreams? Dreams of the long summers at Tara playing with the Tarletons, Cathleen, Ashley, the riding trips she took with her father, even her honeymoon with Rhett.

She turned on her side and looked at her clock. It was only just five o'clock and knowing that she had a long day ahead of her, she closed her eyes in the hope that sleep might reclaim her.

After a few futile minutes, she stretched, rubbed her eyes and then got out of her bed and went downstairs to make herself a coffee – only to find Dilcey already up, along with Pansy.

"'Morning, Miss Scarlett," said Dilcey as Scarlett sloped in, wearing an old chiffon wrapper and velvet house slippers. Pansy smiled shyly at her and Scarlett returned the smile. She was fond of Pansy, who had such a different personality to Prissy. She was sensible for one thing and she had tact and was a diligent worker. It frequently baffled Scarlett how the two girls could have been born from the same mother.

"Good morning Dilcey, Pansy. Is anyone else awake?"

"No'm. But 'spect Pork will be up shortly. An' Minnie and Reena, tho' Ah aint ever sure wid dem two," and Dilcey raised her eyebrows to try and properly convey her meaning. Although she had suggested that Scarlett hire Minnie she had become rather scandalised at her tardiness and that of Reena, the other reasonably new addition to Scarlett's staff – notwithstanding that they were late only a few minutes each day. She had stopped short of telling on them but the irritation was growing inside her.

"Do you have any coffee brewing Dilcey?"

"Yes'm."

"Would you mind bringing it out to me in the garden, please? I'll be on the veranda."

Scarlett went and sat outside and watched the sky suffuse with a rich orange hue, then tint pink before it fragmented into a vivid azure. The gentle breeze rustled her hair gently and blew across her face. She loved feeling the cool air before the sun got too high in the sky and burnt through the sparse cloud cover, making it impossible for any decent self-respecting lady to be outside other than in the shade.

Pansy brought out her coffee and Scarlett sipped it whilst she contemplated the itinerary for the day. They were to meet at the river at around midday and eat around one o'clock. The group going to the picnic had grown to eighteen. When Scarlett had spoken to Maybelle about including Beau and Ashley, Maybelle, after chastising herself for not thinking of it herself, then suggested that India should come too – ostensibly, so that India would not feel left out. And then, because Emma was hovering in the background, tidying some shelves and had been privy to the whole conversation, Maybelle extended an invitation to Emma.

By the time Scarlett re-entered the house, Wade and Ella were awake and already dressed – in eager anticipation of the excursion. Neither of them could quite remember going on a picnic with their mother before. They had had plenty of picnics in their lifetime but orchestrated by their Aunt Melly or Uncle Rhett. Their mother had always been too busy and, in the latter parts of their childhood, although they didn't realise, it had been a way for her to avoid spending unnecessary time with her husband.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" enquired Scarlett as they approached her on the landing. She leaned in towards Ella and tried to smooth her unruly, titian curls. Trying to brush her hair was a painful experience for all concerned and Mammy usually gave up after a minute of high pitched wailing.

"Yes Mother," Wade replied. "We're going to get the horses saddled up."

"Mother, can I ride my own pony?" Ella asked, hopefully.

Scarlett looked down at the freckled face peering up at her from beneath fair, long lashes and shook her head. "Sorry darling. No. You can ride with me instead."

"Oh Mother!" exclaimed Ella and she began to stomp towards the nursery. Perhaps, she thought wryly, her children had more of her in them than she had previously thought.

"Ella, don't walk away when I am talking to you!" scolded Scarlett. Ella turned to face her mother again. "I don't want you riding on your own until you are nine. It's for your own good." Then Scarlett turned to her son. "And Wade, I would prefer you to ride your pony, Mr Chips, and not Red Hunter. We'll be going over uneven ground and I think you'll have more control over your pony."

For a few moments, Wade didn't say anything but instead allowed his dissatisfaction with his mother's pronouncement to manifest by furrowing his brow. Then he said quietly, "But Mother, Uncle Rhett said I should be able to ride him whenever I want to. He was really careful not to choose a horse that was temperamental."

"I don't care what your Uncle Rhett said," said Scarlett, annoyed that her husband could undermine her even though he was probably thousands of miles away. "I'm your mother and I'm telling you I don't want you to ride him." Wade looked crestfallen. He had barely ridden his new horse. The stable boys exercised Red Hunter more than he did. His jaw hardened. He wasn't quite ready to give in to his mother's unreasonable demands.

"But Mother, I can…"

"You can take Red Hunter out next weekend," promised Scarlett. "I'll ride with you. I want you to be safe. That's all." If Rhett had been here and was riding with them, she might have relented but he wasn't. It fell to her now to make the decisions of the house and to protect her children.

"But Mother, all the boys I know ride horses now, not ponies. I'm nearly thirteen."

"Wade Hampton! Your tongue will fall out with the lies you are telling. You are several months away from being thirteen and not every boy you know rides a horse. A lot of your friends don't even have a pony, let alone a horse."

"They…"

"Wade. No. I'm not in the mood for arguing with you."

Wade let out a sigh. "Alright Mother," he said, knowing that he was not going to win this particular battle. "I'll take Mr Chips." His mother had been so strange about ponies and horses ever since his little sister had died and although he was pretty certain he understood the reasons behind her sentiments, it didn't make her decisions any easier to take.

With their excitement dampened, the children left Scarlett standing at the top of the stairs as they made their way to the stables at the back of the house. Scarlett shook her head in frustration and watched them disappear down the crimson stairs. She knew that Wade and Ella thought that she was being mean but they were still only children, despite Wade wanting to grow up quickly. She had to protect them – as well as herself. If anything happened to either of them, it might just be the straw that finally broke her.

She went into her bedroom, closed the door and unbuttoned her wrapper. She threw it onto her chaise longue, walked into her closet and started rummaging through her dresses. She knew that a picnic required an element of casualness and practicality and so she chose a pale green cotton day dress that could almost have passed as a riding habit. She rang the bell and Mammy helped her into her clothes before fixing her hair in a tidy chignon. Then, alone once again, she opened one of her jewellery boxes, and took out her single strand of pearls. She put it on and searched for her pearl drop earbobs, ones that Rhett had bought for her on their honeymoon, before deciding to dispense with them. She didn't need them and she wanted to keep her attire simple.

She got up from her vanity and padded over to the mantelpiece where she had placed her perfume bottle. As she pumped the verbena scent subtly around her neck and hair, her engagement ring caught the sunlight that was streaming in through the opened drapes. It looked so incongruous on her slim, dainty hands.

She put the perfume down and twisted the ring to take it off. It made her riding gloves uncomfortable to wear, she rationalised, even though it was only the third time she had removed it – the first time on her wedding morning and the second time when she had been in the last stages of her pregnancy with Bonnie and her fingers had become so swollen that Doctor Meade had advised her to remove her rings in case they cut off the circulation of her digits.

After struggling to get it over her knuckle, she managed to remove it. Her hand looked naked and foreign without it but she felt lighter, and not just because her finger was no longer weighed down by the weight of the stones. She looked at her wedding ring and then spontaneously removed that too. She had worn a wedding ring continuously for almost half her life and the only time she had not worn one was after the Bazaar for a couple of weeks before she got a replacement and on the morning of both her weddings to Frank and to Rhett. Strange what a wedding ring was meant to symbolise, she mused. She remembered Rhett laughing about the irony of him giving her a ring, when they were on honeymoon. He had told her it symbolised "eternal love", and "completeness" - utterly inapposite to their situation he had chided. Of course, with the shutters removed from her eyes, his words took on a different meaning. She had thought his use of the word "completeness" was a strange choice at the time but now she realised he _had_ completed her. They could have been a formidable partnership if only she had understood him.

She shivered and quickly put her wedding ring back on. She wasn't quite ready to shed Rhett entirely from her life nor was she ready – if she ever would be – to deal with the repercussions that not wearing it would have. Dear God, everyone would think Rhett had divorced her if they caught her ringless and that would no doubt put her back firmly at the top of the gossips' favourite topic of discussion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As promised, Scarlett, Wade and Ella called on the Wilkes' residence shortly after eleven o'clock. Pork had ridden over Rhett's horse for Ashley to use as India was going to ride her brother's old mare. Like Ella, Beau sat in front of his parent and the sight pricked Scarlett's conscience. She hadn't yet fulfilled her promise to Melly that Beau would have a pony. His birthday was a couple of months away and Scarlett resolved to buy him a pony – or give him one of theirs. He would have to stable it at the Peachtree Street house anyway.

When they reached the river it was after noon. The Picards, Elsings and Emma had already arrived and had set up blankets in the large clearing underneath some oak trees. The river was famed for being at its narrowest, shallowest and calmest by the clearing and there were a couple of tributaries which ran off it, providing a perfect paddling and exploring area for children. It was a beautiful day, the cloudless sky a rich royal blue, and there was a subtle breeze that reduced the temperature from a stifling heat to a pleasant warmth.

As Scarlett and Ashley tied up the horses and Mr Chips away from the clearing, Maybelle rushed over to greet them. Her pregnancy was beginning to show and soon, Scarlett thought, protocol and Maybelle's own inhibitions would dictate that she wouldn't be able to leave her house.

"Oh I'm so pleased you were able to all join us," gushed Maybelle, leaning forward to kiss the women and to offer her hand to Ashley. She linked arms with Scarlett and led them to the rest of the group. The children, headed by Beau, had already scuttled off to the rushes by the side of the river to join Raoul and Napolean Picard and the eldest Elsing.

"Hello everyone," said Emma as the new arrivals settled themselves on the blankets. "Gorgeous day, isn't it? Perfect for a picnic." She stretched languidly on one of the blankets, seemingly indifferent to the fact that she was not entirely covered by shade. Scarlett smiled. Emma always had such a sunny, positive nature and she liked being around her.

"Slightly too hot," sniffed India. "But I suspect I'll be fine under these trees. Riding in the midday sun is never good for one's complexion." India shuffled herself towards Fanny, Jane, and baby Charlie, who was lying quietly in his mother's arms and Scarlett ensconced herself between Emma and Maybelle. The men, with an eye on the children, stood chatting and occasionally smoking by the river.

Lunchtime came and the food was devoured - Maybelle had divided the catering duties and Scarlett had brought some chicken and Minnie's lemon cake. After an hour or so, the older children began to get restless and, bored of being told to stay out of the sun, started to drift towards the river. Ashley, René and Emma volunteered to watch the five boys wade and swim in the river, leaving the younger children sleeping near their mothers. Ella, despite her mother's encouragement to go with the boys, was in her own little world, running around trying to catch dragonflies.

"You've got quite a little tomboy there," observed Jack as Scarlett watched her daughter darting amongst the rushes and long grasses.

"I guess she takes after her mother. I was quite a tomboy growing up, always wanting to play with the neighbourhood boys, always getting into scrapes and mischief." She paused as the memories of those carefree days came back to her. "But Ella does like playing with her dolls too. Unfortunately she forgot to bring them with her today."

"She's quite a character," Jack said chuckling. "I'm not sure I've ever met someone quite as…curious as she is."

Scarlett laughed. "Yes, she asks a lot of questions. She doesn't always listen to the answers though."

"Can I get either of you a drink?" interrupted René, who had temporarily left Emma and Ashley overseeing the children.

"That would be wonderful. Some lemonade please," requested Scarlett, dimpling in appreciation. She felt tired and the heat was making her even more fatigued. If she was on her own, she knew she would fall asleep in minutes.

Jack shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you." Scarlett watched René as he made his way to the wicker hamper basket and then allowed her eyes to seek out Ashley. He was standing, knee deep in rushes with Emma, his blonde head flung back in laughter. She hadn't seen Ashley laugh freely since long before Melly had died. Life had always seemed so serious to him but he hadn't always been that way. Emma's broad grin lit up her plain features. She was obviously regaling him with a humorous story because her arms and hands were flailing in gestures and as Ashley laughed, she frequently joined in too – her penetrating, hearty laugh that grated on Scarlett's nerves in the confines of the store but was strangely endearing out in the open.

As the children waded towards the larger of the tributaries, no doubt looking for fishes and other river life in the rock pools, the two adults moved along as well. They walked in unison side by side, almost too close if they hadn't been cousins of sorts. Scarlett turned back to Jack, but out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett thought she saw Ashley's hand gently touch Emma's back as though guiding her but perhaps…

Her thoughts were broken as René returned with a glass of sweetened lemonade. "Here you are Scarlett. My mother-in-law's secret recipe." He handed her the drink before he walked towards Hugh and Jane, who were busy trying to settle Charlie.

"Delicious," Scarlett said to no one in particular as she quenched her thirst. She hoped the liquid would wake her up too. "You should definitely try some of this later, Jack."

"I already have. Whenever I pop into the bakery, Mrs Merriwether always insists on both feeding and watering me! I'm surprised I haven't grown as round as your Uncle Henry." Scarlett giggled and stretched her legs out on the blankets, not caring that her stockinged ankles were showing. This had been such a pleasant afternoon, she thought. So relaxed and peaceful and with no sense of animosity from the Old Guard. It _was_ almost perfect, she mused, recalling Emma's earlier words.

"Tell me about Louisiana. I've only been to New Orleans," Scarlett asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between her and Jack.

As Jack started to describe the creole culture, the humid summers, the saloons he had almost completed, Scarlett's eyes wandered to Ella. She saw her bend down and disappear amongst the rushes. When she reappeared she was holding a frog in her hand but seconds later it had jumped away. Ella let out a frustrated squeal and ran after it. "Be careful, Ella," Scarlett called out as her daughter moved further away from the group, towards the bend in the river, where the river suddenly widened and the current was stronger. "Don't go far," she shouted crossly. She shook her head in irritation. Ella was always so dreamy. If she wasn't careful, she would fall down a rabbit hole like her new favourite heroine, Alice.

"Sorry Jack," Scarlett said. "You were saying…" but Scarlett was no longer listening to his story and instead her attention was wholly focussed on her daughter who was getting smaller and smaller as she skipped towards the more dangerous part of the river.

After a couple of minutes, Scarlett abruptly stood up. "Jack, please excuse me. I would just prefer Ella remained closer to…" But she didn't complete her sentence as she heard a distant splash and saw Ella's small figure fall into the river.

"Ella," Scarlett screamed and everyone looked at her as she started to run. "Ella!" Scarlett screamed again. She ran in the direction of where Ella had fallen, gathering her dress and petticoats in her hands. Damn these dresses she thought, as she kept tripping over the hems and then she damned her corset too, which was yielding sharp pains into her ribs. But she ignored the discomfort – she had to get to Ella.

She crossed over some marshy ground, splattering the back of her dress with mud - not that she noticed or cared. Then she got to some brambles and hedgerow, which she could avoid if she took a longer route. But every second counted and without thinking, Scarlett hurled herself through the prickly bushes and thorns ripping her dress on one side and leaving behind a small patch of mint green material. Ella couldn't swim and she knew that somehow, she had to reach her daughter. Before it was too late. As it had been last time. As it had been with Bonnie.

She ran faster, perspiration running down her face as her cheeks got redder and redder. Her hair began to come out of its combs and pins, until it was completely loose and fell tangled round her shoulders. Oh dear God, she thought, this couldn't be happening to her again. Surely she had been punished enough. Surely she had done enough penance without God taking Ella too.

She was cantering through the grassland and Ella and Bonnie kept on merging in her mind. No, no, no. Life couldn't be this unfair. Not when she had finally been managing to put the foundations down for a new life for her and her two children.

As she got closer, she heard Ella's loud, frantic cries. "I'm coming Ella," she called out in between gulping for breaths of air. Her lungs were hurting but she pushed herself on through the pain. She wiped away the sweat that was trickling into, and stinging, her eyes. She wanted to stop, ease up her pace as nausea washed over her. And yet she knew she couldn't. Every moment mattered. Her baby couldn't swim.

She got to the bend and looked out across the river and finally saw Ella, bedraggled, her red curls plastered against her face, trying to cling to a rock that was miraculously jutting out of the river. At least she had had the good sense to try and hold on to it, Scarlett thought. But as the thought rushed through her mind, Ella's head disappeared. "Ella!" screamed Scarlett. "Ella! Ella! Ella!" Her daughter was still under the water and because of the froth she couldn't see her form in the river. She felt her heart stop. She stood rooted to the ground shaking, praying. Then, Ella re-emerged her face white with panic, fear, tiredness.

"Mother!" she called out before she went under again. When she came up for air somehow she managed to get a better grip of the rock and Scarlett managed to breathe just slightly more easily.

"I'm coming," called Scarlett, trying not to let panic creep into her voice. She looked around for a fallen branch or thick twig but couldn't see either. Without hesitating, she started removing her shoes and as she gathered her petticoats in her hand and felt for the ties, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned round to see René and Jack, running towards her. Wade and Beau were not too far behind, one blonde head and one brown head bobbing in the distance.

She moved towards the water and finally managed to unclasp her petticoats. They pooled around her feet. "Scarlett! Don't!" shouted Jack. A few seconds later he was by her side. "I'll get her," he said, panting. "Rene and I'll get her out. It's too strong a current for you to go in."

"I can swim though," said Scarlett defiantly, remembering the summer she and Suellen had learnt with the Tarleton twins twenty years ago in a brook that had cut across the Tarleton plantation.

"I can too," said Jack firmly, looking at the tiny figure of Scarlett. Without the padding of her petticoats she looked like a doll and easily as breakable. "Please," he insisted. "Let us." Reluctantly, Scarlett took a step back to allow Jack and René to pass. They had already stripped to their waists and removed their shirts so that they each just wore a vest. In any other circumstance, Scarlett would have blushed a beautiful crimson but she failed to notice the masculinity that was so blatantly on display.

René stood by the riverside and bent down, whilst Jack jumped in and swam the twenty or so feet that separated Ella from her mother and dry land. Ella, cold, wet and absolutely terrified, was crying hysterically and screaming for Scarlett. She was tiring quickly and Scarlett knew she would not be able to hold on for much longer. Every now and then her head submerged under the water as she lost her grip on the rock but she was a fighter, like her mother, and always managed to come up to the surface again.

Scarlett stood, now with Wade and Beau by her side, biting her nails, an old habit she had had as a young girl. "Say a prayer," she whispered to Wade and Beau and Wade started reciting the Lord's Prayer, the only prayer he knew, whilst silently Scarlett repeated the Hail Mary.

"Ella, hold on darling. Hold on," she encouraged. She felt the tension in her body travel up her back, to her neck and then to her head. She hardly dared move or breathe in case it changed the course of Ella's destiny. Wade's hand found hers and she squeezed it tightly and then she felt Beau cling onto her skirt. Their three pairs of eyes followed Jack as he battled the current towards Scarlett's daughter and Wade's sister.

Finally, they saw Jack reach her and Scarlett heard him tell her to put her hands round his neck. "Hold tightly," Scarlett called out and only then did she start to breathe properly again.

"Mother!" sobbed Ella as Jack swam with her.

"Baby, hold on. And concentrate!" A few moments later, Jack handed Ella to René who then handed her to her mother. Scarlett took her in her arms and Ella, who had always shied away from being embraced by her mother, nestled into her mother's bosom. "Darling," Scarlett repeated over and over again, as she kissed and stroked her and enveloped her in the folds of her clothing. And then Scarlett started crying softly, her tears mixing with her daughter's sobbing.

The spectators stood aside, and turned their attention to Jack, whose clothes were dripping with water, small puddles forming round his feet. He tried to wring out his trousers but the cloth was too thick. Wade and Beau looked at him in a myriad of gratitude, disbelief and relief that tragedy had been averted. As his mother's attentions were temporarily diverted, Wade felt compelled to say something to the hero of the moment. "Thank you, Mr Picard. Thank you. I…well, you saved my sister." Jack smiled at the sweet face that was turned to him and ruffled the boy's hair before he looked down at his clothes.

"You can use our blanket," offered Beau. "I'll go and get it for you."

"Thank you, Beau, that's kind. But I am sure by the time I walk back to where we are all sitting, I'll have dried off in the sun," Jack said, before bending down to pick up his shirt and shoes.

René went over to his cousin and slapped him on the back. "Goes to show, Jack, that skiving off school to go swimming in the Mississippi has had some advantages after all," and they both chuckled as they remembered their childhood misdemeanours.

After a short while, Scarlett stood up, still holding Ella, even though she was far too big for Scarlett to carry her. "Thank you Jack. I'm not sure what to say."

"There's nothing to say. I just did what anyone else would have."

"No. You did more than most people would have. I can't tell you how grateful I am. I'm not sure how I can ever repay you."

"Don't worry Scarlett. Your friendship and company over the last few weeks has been payment enough." Scarlett felt a flush rise to her cheeks at his words and was thankful that the rest of the group had started walking back to the clearing. As though he sensed he had stepped too far, he quickly changed subject.

"Shall I carry Ella? I'm sure you're pretty tired and it's not easy walking over this terrain." Ella's tears had stopped and she was resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She passed her daughter to Jack.

"I tell you what Ella. Let me put you on my back. We'll get back to the others sooner that way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett returned to Peachtree Street at six o'clock. Jack insisted on riding with Ella and Scarlett didn't argue. The emotions of the day had exhausted her and she knew she would struggle to ride home alone, without the added burden of Ella sitting in front of her. Ella had fallen asleep by the time they pulled up outside the house and so Jack carried her indoors and upstairs to her bedroom, before Mammy rushed in and took over.

Once the children were in bed, and Jack had left, Scarlett went downstairs and poured herself a drink. She had tried to reduce her brandy intake and had barely touched a drop since Rhett had left in April but tonight she needed something both to calm her nerves and to help her sleep. She blew out the candles in the dining room and then walked across the hallway to the parlour before she collapsed on one of her newly re-upholstered chairs. After all of the drama of the day, she couldn't quite muster the energy to go upstairs again and besides, since the parlour had been redecorated, she found it as much a haven as her own bedroom.

Her eyelids were heavy and after a while she allowed them to close and allowed her thoughts to drift to the man who had saved her daughter's life. Thank God for Jack. If he hadn't been there and been such a strong swimmer, heaven knows how the day would have ended. The thought made her shudder. How had Mrs Meade borne the successive deaths of her sons during the war with so much fortitude? She had seemingly taken it in her stride but the pain she must have suffered…must still be suffering…dear Lord, how had she coped? To go from a mother of three to a mother of none…it chilled Scarlett to even think about it.

She dozed for a while and when she opened her eyes again, there was a cosy, warm orange glow in one of the corners of the room coming from the gas light. She hadn't noticed that the lamp emitted a colour before and she realised that previously, it must have been absorbed by the red velvet walls. She stretched her tired limbs, yawned and then walked over to her bureau. If she didn't go to bed now, she knew she would end up sleeping in the parlour.

She picked up a copy of January's edition of Godey's Ladies Book to take upstairs with her and as she did, she saw that next to the periodical were two envelopes. Immediately, she recognised the handwriting on one of them and her stomach turned. It was addressed to a "Mrs RK Butler" of 510 Peachtree Street, Atlanta. How long had the envelope been there, she wondered as she felt its thickness between her fingers. It almost certainly contained only one piece of paper – at the most two – too thin for divorce papers. And surely, he would have sent them to Uncle Henry if he was going to be mean and spiteful and go against her wishes.

Hesitantly, and with her hands shaking, she picked up a small knife and slit the contents open. She took the paper out and her eyes blurred. She couldn't get them to focus for long enough to read what it said, although she could see that it was short. She blinked hard, shut her eyes tight and then opened them again. This time she could read the letter and impatiently, and with her heart beating fast, she skipped to the end. He had signed it simply "Rhett". No "Regards" or anything else - heaven forbid he might send her "fondest wishes" or such like. He was being as businesslike as he had been for the last half of their married life.

She sat down and read the letter slowly from the beginning, digesting the contents and then sighed. It was a short epistle, cold, direct and merely informative. He hadn't even started the letter with "Dear Scarlett". Instead, he had just written her name and then gone straight into what he wanted to convey.

He was coming to Atlanta in fifteen days' time, he wrote, for a day or so on business and afterwards, he wanted to take Wade and Ella to Charleston to stay with him and his mother for two weeks. He would be staying at the National if she wanted to contact him but otherwise, she should expect him on the tenth of June. He would collect them from the house at eleven o'clock.

She folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. The tenth of June was only five days away and the first day of Wade's school holidays. So he was keeping his promise to Wade, she thought and she hadn't quite expected that. After all, he had walked out on them once before without so much as a by or leave. But then, apart from his marriage vows which he had seemingly taken such pleasure in breaking, he had never not followed through with something he had promised.

She picked up the other envelope – a letter from Carreen – and then walked out of the parlour and up the stairs towards her bedroom. She wouldn't stop the children spending some days with him but _she_ didn't need to spend even a minute with him. She had been doing quite well without him and she didn't want him to unsettle or upset her. And thankfully, he had chosen a time which would provide her with a perfect excuse to be out. Everyone knew she spent the mornings, if not the afternoons, at the store and so she could be absent, legitimately, when he arrived. All she had to do was avoid bumping into him when he was conducting his "couple of days' business" in Atlanta and that was easy. It was not really difficult to avoid leaving the house or the store and she could get Pork to take and collect her from Kennedy's in the covered carriage.

When she got to her bedroom door, she found her hands shaking. It took her two attempts to open it and when she finally did, she quickly entered her room and shut the door behind her. And for the first time in over two years, she bolted it. She felt unnerved and she didn't want any surprise visitors.

_I have a feeling some of you might think that the way I portrayed the relationship between Scarlett and her least favourite child, Ella, as unrealistic. Personally, I think that Scarlett was growing at the end of the novel – and growing as a mother. Ella and Wade were all she had left and although in her grief over Bonnie she might have said that if God had to take one of her children, she had wished it had been Ella, I am pretty sure that she loved Ella in her own way – she just wasn't her favourite. But I'd be interested to hear what you all think. CeeJay – thank you for inspiring me with the Emma-Ashley thing (not that it is necessarily going to develop much in the lifetime of this fanfic). _


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you for all your reviews – especially Alison, Guardian Spirit and Julia. Thank you also to Aditi who gave me a gentle nudge to get the next chapter posted (my husband has been complaining that I have been neglecting him a bit too much in favour of fanfic hence the slight delay in getting this posted). So the nomad returns in this chapter (Julia – hope that makes you happy!) and this is the first of three chapters that brings down the curtain to Act II (only one more Act to go after this). I never expected this story to get so long (too long?)._

_The next chapter is almost written so it won't take me quite so long to update. I have to say that I struggle sometimes with trying to broaden my vocabulary – Dixie Cross has probably the best vocabulary on this site. I am in awe! Forgive me therefore for repeating descriptions (how many words really can you substitute for "large"?) and perhaps over use of the word "just" and "even"._

**Chapter 21**

Although she would never have admitted it, Rhett's pending arrival had left Scarlett enervated although to the outside world she maintained a collected countenance. She conducted her business in a sloth like daze, and barely registered what any of Hugh, Emma or Mary said when she was at the store nor what the children told her at the end of the day when they sat down to eat. She was preoccupied, lost in her own thoughts, and found herself foregoing her recent routine of spending the afternoons with Ella and instead choosing solitude in her bedroom where she could pour over the books of both the store and the mills.

For the first time since her re-emergence as a vaguely respected member of Atlanta society, she even declined an invitation from the Old Guard – admittedly only for afternoon tea with Maybelle and Fanny – and then, at the last minute, on Wednesday, feigned illness to escape her sewing circle duties – just in case her husband was in Atlanta earlier than expected . When she thought about Rhett, she felt bubbles of anticipation rise in her stomach and even caught herself biting her fingernails. But even more embarrassingly, she found herself checking her reflection at every available mirror that graced the house and the store whenever she passed them, even though she really shouldn't have cared what she looked like for her husband.

She was scared of him – scared that he would hurt her by further rejection and she knew that if he even breathed word of another woman, it would likely destroy her. She was also scared that she would end up breaking her resolve to see him and that somehow, possibly, maybe, she would not be able to resist the urge to touch him, kiss him and God forbid, if she had had too much to drink, invite him into her bed. She knew she still loved him but there was no way on earth, she kept on telling herself, that she would repeat her October or April declarations or let that love manifest itself. She had to keep her distance to retain her sanity – and avoiding him was her best defence. Oh dear God, why did he have this unnerving habit of reappearing every time she had just got her life back in order, threatening to turn it all upside down again? His timing was _always_ irritatingly impeccable. Was it only death – either hers or his – that would release her from such a threat?

For a couple of days she kept the contents of Rhett's letter to herself but on the Tuesday evening, when Wade was asking Scarlett if he could go swimming in the nearby creek on the upcoming Sunday with Beau, Raoul Picard and Tommy Whiting, she told him that it wouldn't be possible because he would be in Charleston.

"Charleston?" asked Wade, looking inquisitively at Scarlett. As far as he could remember, he had never been further than the Georgian countryside where his mother's childhood home was and where his cousins lived. He had vague recollections of Scarlett telling him he had been to Savannah and Charleston when he was a baby but he had no memory of any actual visits.

"Yes, Charleston," replied Scarlett, matter-of-factly, twisting her fork amongst her food but not picking any up.

"Who's in Charleston?" He was utterly confused. The only person he knew who had been to Charleston was his little sister Bonnie and his stepfather.

"Your great Aunts for one. You remember Aunt Eulalie, who came at Christmas, and Aunt Pauline, don't you?" She paused, watching the recognition of the names register on his soft face. "And, well also your Uncle Rhett and his mother. He wants you – and you Ella…" She turned her gaze to her fidgeting daughter, "He wants you both to go and stay with him in Charleston for a couple of weeks." Scarlett had Ella's attention now that the revered name of her stepfather had been mentioned and her eyes began to dart around, excitedly.

"Hooray!" she exclaimed shrilly, clapping her hands, her little body reverberating with unadulterated glee. "When Mother? When? Tomorrow?" She got off her chair and made for the door and then twirled around shouting, "Uncle Rhett's coming! Uncle Rhett's coming!" and clapped her hands together again.

"Ella!" said Scarlett, sternly, "Please come and sit down and finish your dinner. I haven't said you can leave the table yet." Reluctantly, Ella obeyed and retook her place at the dining table.

"But Mother, when?" she persisted, before she shovelled some chicken into her thin lipped mouth.

"Friday." Scarlett took a sip from her glass of lime cordial. "He's coming on Friday at eleven o'clock and will then take you both back to Charleston. Minnie is going to go with you. Do you remember Mrs Butler? You met her…she came to stay here for a week, when Bonnie…after Bonnie had her accident." Had her children met her? She couldn't quite remember. Everything had always remained blurred from that dreadful time. She had been told that the children had stayed with Melanie and Ashley in the days after the accident but she couldn't remember that fact herself. Perhaps they hadn't met her, after all.

"I think so," said Wade, nodding his head slowly. "She was a very handsome lady. And kind. She gave me some candy and she bought me some books."

"Well, you're going to stay with her and your Uncle Rhett for a couple of weeks. If you want to, that is. And you can also see your Aunt Eulalie and Aunt Pauline when you are there."

"Are you coming, Mother?" Wade asked quietly, his large innocent eyes begging a thousand answers to a multitude of questions that remained unasked.

Scarlett didn't look at him but stared down at her plate of uneaten food. "No, darling. I can't go. I've got the store to run and things to do in Atlanta. I can't up and leave on a whim."

A silence fell as Wade digested the falsehoods his mother told him. Then, he said, "But Mother, you could ask Mr Elsing, and Miss Emma to look after the store. Couldn't you?"

"Hmmm?" Scarlett murmured vaguely.

"Mr Elsing and Miss Emma can look after the store. I heard you say to Uncle Ashley on Sunday that Mr Elsing is doing a real, fine job with Kennedy's now and that Miss Emma was a Godsend."

"Did I say that? I don't remember," Scarlett lied. "Anyway, I can't go. Not really, Wade." She didn't dare meet the searching eyes of her son. It was always so much easier to stretch the truth, she had learned, if you didn't look at anyone.

"Mother?" Wade asked.

"Hmmm?" Scarlett picked up her gaze and turned to her daughter. "Ella, I want you to finish the food on your plate. Then you can get down."

"Mother?" Wade repeated, not quite allowing Scarlett to escape from his questioning.

"Sorry, Wade. What is it?" beginning to lose patience with the plethora of questions. Usually, it was Ella who wouldn't stop interrogating her.

"Is…well, I was wondering…is Uncle Rhett going to live with us again?"

"Alright Ella!" chastised Scarlett, thankful Ella was providing her with a means of escape. "If you're going to play with the food on your plate, rather than eat it, you can go to your room. Now. Go on. Go and get ready for bed. I'll get Minnie to come up in five minutes." Ella's eyes smarted with tears at Scarlett's raised voice and she jumped down from the table and left the room before any fell, leaving her mother alone with her brother.

"Mother?" Wade continued.

Scarlett then turned to her son, hesitant. She had no real idea what he understood about her marital situation and they hadn't discussed it since that one conversation back in April when he had asked her about divorce. "Wade, darling. You know, even if people love each other, sometimes they need to spend some time apart. I'm not sure whether Uncle Rhett will ever come and live here again with us but he loves you and Ella and that is important. But, you don't have to go to Charleston if you don't want to. I just thought it might be fun to spend time in another place."

"Oh, I want to go!" exclaimed Wade. "And I want to see Uncle Rhett." He paused and Scarlett could almost see the cogs turn in his head. "But… I want you to come too, Mother." He looked into his mother's emerald eyes, trying, and failing, to read her. "I'll miss you."

"Oh darling," scoffed Scarlett, emitting a sarcastic sigh. "You'll have so much fun that I suspect you won't think about me at all."

"Yes I will," he said solemnly. "I know I will." Another silence fell. They continued eating and Scarlett could tell by the slight frown on his face that her son was in deep contemplation. After he had finished his food and put his cutlery down, he looked at his mother again. "Mother, does…well, I know that you love Uncle Rhett because you told me so but…he does love you too? Doesn't he?"

Scarlett took in a sharp breath. She hadn't quite expected such a direct question from her son, even though they had been dancing round the exact status of her relationship with his stepfather for over eight months, probably longer. She knew he had not been immune to the acidic friction that had dominated her relationship with Rhett after Bonnie had died. She turned to him and thinking of the various different types of love that existed between people, said, attempting to be truthful and not misleading, "I think he loves me in his own way. But he doesn't love me like he used to." And as she said those words, reminding herself that her husband's love was spent, she felt a familiar sense of anger rise within her – anger that she had been left to try and explain their relationship to the children, anger that she had been left to face the whispers and gossip, and above all anger that he had dared to fall out of love with her and not even give her a chance at happiness, a life together. "You know, Wade, you'll have two weeks with him. He'll be able to give you a better explanation than I can. You should ask him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Thursday and Scarlett had spent the morning and half the afternoon at the store. It had turned into one of the hottest days of the year and by half past two, she felt sticky, uncomfortable and suffocated by the humidity. And she also felt bilious, as though she was drowning under a sea of nerves.

"I'm going to head home now, Hugh," she said as she passed him serving a customer. "I'll be in tomorrow. Would you mind coming in a bit earlier please to help me deal with the Johnson delivery? It's due in shortly after seven o'clock." Two months ago, Hugh would have resented such a request but now he was eager to assist her. Jeanie had left Scarlett's employment only a week before but his youngest was sleeping through the night and equilibrium had been restored to his household and his marriage. And he knew it was all down to his boss's generosity.

"Yes, Miss Scarlett," he said as he mopped the perspiration from his brow. "I'll come in at seven."

Pork was waiting for Scarlett as she exited the store, and as she got into the carriage she took out her fan from her reticule. She felt a headache coming on and closed her eyes, thinking that she would bathe when she got home. Only one more day and then she could relax and not be constantly looking over her shoulder. She knew that Rhett was almost certainly in Atlanta by now but so far, she had managed to avoid seeing him and, even more importantly, he had avoided being seen. She felt sure the old battle axes would have been queuing up to tell her if they had seen him and so far his name hadn't crossed anyone's lips.

"Pork," she called out from the open window of the carriage which was allowing a welcome breeze to ruffle the still air. "Please go down Marietta Street and then onto Peachtree rather than down West Market Street."

"Yes'm," Pork replied and she felt the jerk of the reins as he changed direction. She leaned back into the cushions again. Even though it was not the most direct route, she would avoid passing the National - and she wanted to stay as far away as possible from that place. Just in case.

As she swayed from side to side with the movement of the carriage, Scarlett started thinking about tomorrow. Minnie had been packing the children's clothes for the last couple of days and was over the moon to be going to Charleston. Minnie's sister was working for a family there and Scarlett had promised her she would have enough spare time to visit her. Mammy, however, seemed dejected and withdrawn and went about her duties silently and Scarlett sensed that it was because the task of accompanying the children to Charleston had been allocated to Minnie. But Mammy was getting old and besides, Scarlett wanted to keep Mammy close to hand - it would be a long and lonely two weeks and her feelings of exclusion and isolation would only be exacerbated if Mammy also disappeared.

Pork turned onto Peachtree Street and Scarlett cursorily looked out of the window. She saw René pass her in his cart, no doubt making deliveries for the bakery, and she waved at him but he didn't see her. Then, she stretched languidly, yawned and bent down to loosen her shoes that had begun to rub her hot and tired feet. She sighed. She was only a couple of hundred yards from home and with home came the relative security of her wrought iron gates and surrounding walls. She could be tucked away - away from prying eyes and unwelcome visitors. Only twenty four more hours in her self-made prison and then she would be free.

She heard Ella before she saw him. Her daughter's unmistakeable, excited, joyous squeals and overzealous babbling could only mean he was back in town. She surreptitiously peered out of the window, obscuring her face from full view and when her eyes rested on his figure she swallowed hard and quickly leaned back into the carriage. There was no doubt. Rhett was in Atlanta and he was not just in Atlanta but he was on Peachtree Street. And somehow, he had managed to locate her daughter and was walking towards her house – with Ella's hand clasped firmly in his and Ella's governess trailing behind.

Scarlett's practiced cool demeanour from the last few days vanished and in one of those rare moments in her life she felt waves of panic crash over her. Her eyes narrowed and her forehead wrinkled, incredulous at the audacity of her husband. Why couldn't he have gone about his business quietly and without fanfare rather than walk down one of the main Atlanta thoroughfares in broad daylight for everyone to see, including Mrs Meade and Mrs Merriwether whom Scarlett had spied on the other side of the road? Rhett Butler never did anything quietly, she thought. Was this latest foray his attempt at humiliating her completely, just when everyone had seemingly accepted his absence from the marital home? As she passed the stepfather and stepdaughter, she tried to sink even further into the cushions, wishing that she could disappear. She heard Pork's cheerful greeting as they trotted past the pair, "Hello Mist' Rhett, Miss Ella," and then they left them behind in the dust kicked up by the horse and the large gilded wheels of the carriage.

As soon as Pork stopped, Scarlett hurried into the house casting a quick glance in the direction they had just come from. She could see the discordant pair in the distance, Rhett dwarfing Ella in height and girth. They were getting closer and she calculated that she had less than ten minutes before they would be knocking on her front door.

She didn't have time to go upstairs to change out of her plain fawn day dress or re-pin her hair into a less severe style and instead, she took a quick glance into the vast mirror that dominated the crimson hallway and scrutinised her reflection, despondent at what she saw. She looked tired and overly pale, sallow even and she had the beginnings of dark circles under eyes because she had slept so badly for the last five days. She pinched her cheeks, hard, and then pinched them again. She didn't want him to make any snide comments or question her as to whether she had been missing him. If only she could dab a small amount of rouge on her cheeks, she thought. But he would know and his conceit would automatically assume it had been done for his benefit and she didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Besides, she rationalised, her pot of rouge was on her vanity, a good number of stairs away – she didn't have time. Instead, she brushed her hair with her fingers, dragging some curls down and then inadvertently pricked herself whilst rearranging some pins. She then went into the parlour and waited.

She picked up a newspaper to try and distract herself but her hands shook and so she put it down. She then started plucking a couple of dead buds from the vases of flowers that were scattered around the room. Anything to make her look busy, she thought. Anything to make it look as though she wasn't waiting for him, for them. She looked at the clock, methodically ticking in the corner. It was almost three o'clock and she had been in the house six minutes. Even with Ella's little legs slowing down the pace, she knew that they would be here any moment. She ran through what she would say to him silently and then she whispered the imagined conversation out loud, trying to get her words just right. It should take less than five minutes to dismiss him, provided she could get Ella out of his clutches.

The doorbell rang. She could see from her position in the parlour that it was them. "Mammy, don't worry. It's only Ella and Miss Brickston," she called out, deliberately omitting the name of their companion. She wanted to deal with him on her own and without any servants overhearing the content of their conversation, even dear old Mammy.

"Mother!" exclaimed Ella, as Scarlett opened the door. "Uncle Rhett's here already!" Ella's eyes were wide with glee as she stood holding his large, tanned hand in her small, pale one. She was almost dancing on the front step, so happy did Ella seem to be standing with her stepfather.

"So I can see," Scarlett replied, trying not to look at him.

"We met him in the park!"

"Hello Scarlett," he said as he made a move to kiss her on her cheek. She stepped back, opening up an awkward gap between them. She didn't want any contact with him. She had to remain distant – emotionally and physically.

"Hello Rhett," she said politely before turning to Ella's governess who, Scarlett had no doubt, would spread the story of the absent husband returning around Atlanta before the sun had set - if Mrs Meade and Mrs Merriwether had not already done so. "Miss Brickston, you can finish early today as it is the last day before the holidays."

"Thank you, Mrs Butler," she said in her haughty, condescending tone. Scarlett turned to watch the middle-aged spinster enter the house to collect her belongings before she exited quickly.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Rhett asked, once the governess had closed the front gate.

Scarlett didn't answer. Instead, she turned to her daughter. "Ella darling. Please can you go and ask Dilcey what we are having for dinner and perhaps see if you can help her bake a cake or some cookies." Ella, oblivious to the iciness that was suddenly hanging between her mother and stepfather, ran indoors and towards the kitchen. Scarlett stiffened and continued holding the front door, blocking her husband's entrance.

"I don't appreciate you coming here, Rhett," she said when she heard the door to the kitchen slam shut. "You can come back tomorrow at eleven o'clock. As you said you would." Rhett's eyes went up in their familiar sardonic crescents.

"You're looking rather well, Scarlett," Liar, thought Scarlett, knowing that she looked wan and drawn. But she could pretend otherwise, if he was going to play games.

"It's amazing what losing a husband does to you," replied Scarlett coolly.

"Indeed. And what losing a wife does to you too."

"You didn't lose me, Rhett. You left me," she said. Then, annoyed that she had allowed her bitterness to reveal itself, she said, "The children will be ready tomorrow. Now, if you'll please excuse me…" She went to shut the door but Rhett stepped forward, his broad, muscular body making it impossible for her to close the door any further. His eyes flashed with amusement. She relaxed her grip on the door and casually took a step back. He was much stronger than she was and she didn't have the energy to fight a battle she knew she would lose.

"So, what have you been up to?" he asked, leaning on the doorframe and placing one hand, nonchalantly, in his waistcoat pocket. Why was he prolonging this conversation? Why couldn't he just leave? She didn't want to be standing on her doorstep talking to this man, for all of the Atlanta busybodies to see.

"Not much. Just planning my future," she said icily.

"A future without using my money, I've noticed. You haven't touched it, have you?"

"No. I haven't."

"I never would have thought I would see the day that Scarlett O'Hara would turn down lucre just to prove a point. A pretty futile point too."

"What point do you think I am trying to make, Rhett?"

"That you don't need me, of course. As you told me."

"The store is doing rather well at the moment thank you and you're right. I don't need you or your charity. And I am certainly not going to be bought by you."

"No – I guess I lost my chance at buying you a long time ago." Scarlett's face registered a vague look of confusion. Was he referring to their meeting in the jail or his attempts at buying her love throughout their courtship and marriage? He spoke softly, as he looked calmly and almost kindly at her, "Scarlett, it's not charity and I certainly don't want you to think you are beholden to me if you use the money. I want you to have it. I think I owed you…"

"You don't _owe_ me anything anymore Rhett," she snapped. Then, more quietly she added, "And neither do you own me."

"Actually, in law I do. A wife belongs to her husband. But, it's a moot point. As you and I have both broken the law and don't really live by the rules of society, I won't claim a stake on you. Your…erm…next husband might not be so accommodating." She looked at him and wanted to hit him, to wipe the smarmy grin off his face.

"I'm never getting married again, Rhett."

"I have a sense of deja-vu coming on."

"What?"

"I've heard that protestation before Mrs Butler."

"I intend to stick to it this time."

"Yes. I suppose I might just have managed to put the final nail in Scarlett O'Hara's marital coffin."

"Well then, until tomorrow," she said. He didn't take her hint though and continued to stand propping himself up against the door. Please, she thought, this is all too painful. If I don't see you, it doesn't hurt so much. I can get on with my life, try and forget you, try and live without you, try and live without thinking what might have been. Once again, she attempted, in vain, to close the door.

"How have you been, Scarlett?"

"How have I been? What sort of a question is that? Really Rhett, is this the Spanish inquisition?"

"No, it's a ….friend who wants to make sure you are alright. I have a vested interest…."

"What interest? I don't think anything that is going on in my life should concern you or be of interest to you. Unless I agreed to a divorce or died. Those should be the only things of interest to you. And I don't intend to do either. Well, not for a good many years anyway. Is that why you've really come back? To try and talk me into a divorce? If you have, you're wasting your time. You know I won't give you one."

"So you've said. Repeatedly. I had forgotten how stubborn you are. If I really felt the _need _for a divorce, I know how I could get one. Whether or not you consented." He smiled broadly, flashing his brilliant white teeth and then he raised his eyebrows, in his familiar, irking way. "Anyway, Mrs Butler. Are we going to continue conducting this illuminating conversation on the porch or are you going to invite me in? This is still my house. At least technically. So I think I have a right to spend a few minutes in it."

Scarlett shook her head in exasperation but realising her attempts to exclude him were not winning, she opened the door, fully, and allowed him to pass her.

"Five minutes. You have five minutes in here and then you must leave. That should be plenty of time to discuss the children and their vacation with you," she said.

He brushed past her, put his hat on the intricately carved, ebony stand that furnished the hallway and made his way to the parlour. He stood on its threshold momentarily, as his eyes took in the vast change to the room since he had last blessed it with his presence. "She wasn't joking," he said under his breath and Scarlett, her senses alert, heard him.

"Who's she?"

"Never mind," he said quickly, realising his error and he entered the newly decorated room. He sauntered over to the windows and felt the fabric of the drapes between his fingers and then he walked over to the fireplace and ran his hand along the mantelpiece that had been stripped of its gaudy surround and replaced with clean, white marble. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down. "I'm impressed," he said finally and Scarlett, who hadn't realised she had been holding her breath, exhaled deeply.

"You…you like it?" she asked, her own guard temporarily down. He had only ever praised her beauty and her business acumen, nothing personal where she had had to exercise choice and taste.

"Yes, I do," and there was nothing on his face to suggest he was telling her anything other than the truth.

"Thank you."

"It's…elegant…Scarlett," he said and then his eyes took on their familiar mocking look. "Who helped you?"

She wanted to lie, claim the refurbishment all for herself, but instead she answered honestly. "I led the redecoration. I mean, I had a general view of what I wanted. But Maybelle shared some of her ideas with me. And René's cousin too. Jack actually recommended some workmen." As soon as she had spoken, she wondered if her honesty had forced her to reveal too much. Something flickered in her husband's coal black eyes that she had not seen since the long ago days of her infatuation with Ashley. Surely…no…absolutely not. She must have misread him, she thought. Rhett couldn't be jealous. Not when he had so manifestly discarded her because he didn't love her any more.

He sat looking at her and she felt herself getting hotter under his gaze. Awkwardly, trying to break the ice that was beginning to form around them, she said, "Mammy said that at least one room in the house doesn't resemble a bordello. Although I am not sure how Mammy would know what a bordello would look like!" Scarlett emitted a nervous giggle as Rhett smirked.

"Very true," and he smiled at her. "The only thing I would say is that it looks slightly incongruous in this house when it is juxtaposed against the rest of the whorish décor."

"I'll get round to the rest of the house when I have some time," she said. "Or maybe…well, I have thought about moving but I didn't want to unnecessarily unsettle the children. The gossip…about us…seems to be a lot less from when you left in October and I think if I moved, people would… it might stir everything up again. Anyway, Uncle Henry recommended I stay here for Wade and Ella's sake. For the time being."

"Seems sensible," he said and he looked at her again. She felt his gaze rest on her face and then linger on her bosom and she returned his stare, properly taking in the fresh sight of her husband. He had lost even more weight from when she had seen him in October and he was as lean in her mind as that day she had first laid eyes on him in Clayton County. He looked almost…perfect…except there was something missing in his eyes, his twinkle, his – what would he have called it? His joie de vivre?

"So, about tomorrow," Scarlett said, trying to steer the conversation back to a neutral topic. "They are both excited about going to Charleston and I have asked Minnie to…"

"God, Scarlett. I don't need Minnie. Mother has some servants…"

"I want her to go, Rhett. It will be strange for the children – being out of Atlanta, away from me and it's hardly as if you have been much of a presence in their lives for the last year or so." Since Bonnie died, she almost added but managed to refrain herself. "I want Minnie to go in case…well… I am sure that there are going to be times when you have other things to do and need to be on your own."

"My mother will be there Scarlett but as you wish. It really isn't necessary though."

"I _do_ wish and I beg to differ about the necessity of it." She moved gracefully across the wooden floor towards a chair that gave her a view of the front garden and sat down. "I don't want you overly spoiling them Rhett, so that they come back thinking money grows on trees. And I don't want you criticising me or making odd remarks about me, about us…"

"Scarlett, please. Have I ever done that?"

"I don't know, do I? You took my daughter away from me for three months and heaven only knows what you said about me. You've always told me what a bad mother I am so why shouldn't I worry what you will say to Ella and Wade when they are hundreds of miles away from me and I can't defend myself."

"Do you really think so little of me that I would…"

"Yes," she interjected and as she looked at him, she thought he looked hurt. "No. I mean…sorry Rhett, I don't know what to think. But I know in the last few months I have tried really, really hard to develop a better bond with my children and I don't want you with your jeering manner to undo all of my work. Or even some of it."

"Scarlett, I wouldn't poison your own children against you."

"Didn't you do that with Bonnie?"

He didn't say anything but just looked at her, certainly hurt but perhaps also, Scarlett wondered, embarrassed. He then sighed and rubbed his temples between his right hand, stretching his swarthy skin taut. "I never said anything _bad_ about you per se but…" He cleared his throat, as though he was about to make a confession. " I think it's probably fair to say that I didn't do anything to put you in the best light either. But Scarlett, please don't worry. I have plenty of positive stories about you to relay to your children and I will stick to them. I won't touch on us or your failings."

"Thank you," she said simply and momentarily she felt her eyes tingle with tears. She stared out of the window, hard, and the moment passed.

"So, do you want me to bring them back to Atlanta…"

"No," she cut in. Seeing him once, so soon after he had left her, was hard enough. "I think if you put them on the train with Minnie, that should be fine. Please wire me and let me know what time I should expect them and I will have them met at the train station."

"Fine. I can do that."

Scarlett stood up. He had stayed for over five minutes. His time was up. "Anyway, I think that covers it. The children will be packed and ready at eleven o'clock tomorrow. I expect I will be at the store so I won't see you…"

"Is the thought of seeing me so abhorrent that you would miss saying goodbye to your children?"

"I'll say goodbye to them. Just earlier in the morning. Now, if you don't mind…"

"Yes. Of course. I can see you want me out of your presence. And I will grant you that desire, Mrs Butler."

He stood up and bowed mockingly in front of her before he moved towards the exit. She followed him and watched as he picked up his hat from the stand. Then he stood still, looking around the hallway and the rooms leading off it. "I always thought this house was beyond redemption but if you do to the rest of it, what you have done to the parlour, it might just be habitable. Still a monstrosity from the outside but…"

There was a knock at the door and both Scarlett and Rhett turned towards it. From the stained glass window, the shadow could only have been a young man. "It's Wade," Scarlett said as she walked across the carpet to open the door. "He must have finished school early for the holidays."

"Hello Mother," he said before his eyes quickly located his stepfather hovering in the background. "Uncle Rhett!" he exclaimed and, despite his advancing years, he ran towards him and hugged him. Scarlett felt herself go rigid. Why were her children so fond of this man who had broken her heart into a thousand pieces and not merely broken it but stamped on it, too?

"Wade, your Uncle Rhett was just leaving. He'll…"

"Oh but Mother! He can't leave now. Not yet anyway. I want to show him Red Hunter."

"You can show him tomorrow. There isn't…"

"Mother, there won't be time tomorrow. I want to show him now. He's so beautiful," said Wade, turning to his stepfather, "But Mother _never _lets me ride him. Even when we went to the picnic on Sunday, I had to ride Mr Chips."

"I'm sure your mother had good reason," Rhett replied.

"Mother, can we go riding together? I mean me and Uncle Rhett? Now? You promised on Sunday that you would take me out but I'm not going to be here." Scarlett stayed mute, her eyes flitting between her son and husband. "Uncle Rhett, can we?"

"You'll have to ask your mother," Rhett replied.

"That's a first," murmured Scarlett, taken aback that her husband would defer to her judgment with respect to one of the children.

"Mother?" pleaded Wade.

"Wade, I'd rather…"

"Mother, you are always wanting to spoil things!" he said petulantly.

"Wade, don't talk to your mother like that," Rhett chastised. "She's probably right…you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow…" Wade looked sulkily at his Mother. Where on earth had this attitude come from? she wondered. Her sweet and innocent boy was turning into another creature. But she didn't want to appear as the person who always said "no" to fun, especially not when she knew that Rhett would allow both her children a free reign in Charleston.

"Alright Wade. You can show Uncle Rhett your horse and you can go for a ride, if he has time."

"I've finished all my business for the day so I have time. As long as you don't mind."

Scarlett shook her head. "I don't mind. But Wade, I want you back at half past five because I want you to have a bath and then we'll have dinner at half past six."

Wade's disposition changed again back to the meek and eager to please child that Scarlett had always thought he was. "I'll just go and get changed and I'll be back down in five minutes," Wade said, as he started to run up the flight of stairs. When he got half way, he suddenly stopped and turned round. "Mother," he called out. "Can Uncle Rhett stay for dinner?" Scarlett looked at her son and then her husband before she turned back to her son. He was so obviously delighted to see his stepfather that she knew that answering anything other than yes would only precipitate another sullen episode. This was another battle that was not worth fighting.

"I don't see why not," she replied, trying to sound indifferent and trying to ignore the fluttering in her heart. "Rhett? Do you have dinner plans?"

"Nothing that can't be cancelled. It would be a pleasure to have dinner with the children…and you…"

"Hooray!" exclaimed Wade and then wondering if perhaps he was getting too old to display such evident enthusiasm, he quickly shut his mouth and continued up the staircase.

_Let me know what you think. I know that commentators on this site often think Wade would be a good mix of Melly and Scarlett and I agree! I have often thought he would grow up to be the perfect husband – striking the right balance between kindness/softness and drive. An A/B personality!_


	22. Chapter 22

_This was originally double the length but I couldn't get the final part right so I am posting in two chunks…besides, nine thousand words for one chapter I think is probably too long! This story just seems to be getting longer and longer – and I am now impatient to finish it! We will now have two more chapters before the end of Act II._

_Katie – thanks for your comments about supper/dinner/lunch. You were right. I wished you had told me where I had gone wrong in the dialogue in chapter 21 because I don't find dialogue easy and it would have helped me with this dialogue! I won't be offended if you have some criticism. Keri – thanks for your help with Mammy's small bit of dialogue._

_Thanks to everyone else for reading and reviewing. Next chapter really should be up by the end of the week. I have seen so many wonderful stories start and not finish and I do so want to finish this story but keeping going is not always easy. Knowing people are reading and reviewing really pushes me along!_

Chapter 22

Scarlett was in her bedroom when she heard the clip clop of horses' hooves, heading in the direction of the stables. She heard Rhett bring his horse to a halt, and Wade do the same, slightly less successfully, and then a muffled conversation between the pair. She tiptoed over, clad in only her white cotton chemise, to the open windows and peered out, trying to hide her voyeurism behind the undulating voile curtain. She saw Wade hand his reins to Pork and then watched as Rhett dismounted before he pressed something into Wade's hand. "Thank you!" she thought she heard Wade say before he ran across the lawn towards the far corner of the house. Rhett, as motionless as one of the grotesque statues that Scarlett had insisted adorn the garden, regarded his stepson for a few seconds before he broke his pose, elicited a wry chuckle and led his horse into the stables. Moments later, Scarlett heard the kitchen door slam shut, no doubt powered by the slight wind that had started to rustle the stagnant and stifling air.

She continued watching, behind her ivory, translucent shield and, after a few minutes, Rhett reappeared. He pushed his hair off his face and then reached into his jacket pocket, took out a cigar and lit it, before he leaned against the wall that separated the stables from the large back yard. Again, he took on a static demeanour, save for his head which moved slowly from left to right, his eyes scanning the boundary of the back yard which remained, even after all these years, the largest plot on Peachtree Street.

Abruptly, he stopped, his head facing the direction of where Bonnie had fallen, where she had lost her short, sweet life, where their marriage had finally unravelled and the last shackle that had tied him to his wife had been broken. Don't torture yourself, she urged silently. Please Rhett, come inside, out of the heat. But he continued and then finally he raked a hand through his dark hair and broke, what Scarlett imagined, had been an unblinking stare. He stood up straighter, stretching his back and even from a distance, Scarlett was surprised by his height, his presence. With the weight he had shed, he looked as healthy and as handsome as she could ever remember. He had always had an enigmatic quality, which had made him irresistible to most women. True, she had taken his looks for granted but she had never been oblivious to the stares that frequently followed him – especially when they had been in New Orleans, where women hadn't been quite so shy, nor so quick to avert their eyes.

Suddenly, Rhett looked up at the house in the direction of the bedroom that, once upon a time, they had both claimed as their own. She took a step back but by the broad smile that enfolded on his face, she knew it was too late. If she had been closer, no doubt she would have seen his eyebrows going up in their familiar mocking arches. "Damn," she muttered under her breath and quickly felt herself colour in embarrassment, thankful that he was too far away to see the subtle change in her skin tone.

She walked towards her bed and, looking at the clock, rang the bell for Mammy to help her get ready for the evening. As she waited for Mammy, she pulled out her selected attire from her closet - a cream gown, its bodice woven with emerald velvet, with a discreet bustle at the back. It was far too elaborate for supper with family, even if the family make-up included her husband, but she had always felt more powerful when she was in a pretty gown, especially when dealing with Rhett Butler. And she had a feeling she would need whatever props she could lay her hands on to get her through the evening.

Mammy came up to the bedroom, humming an old ditty that reminded Scarlett of her childhood and rather than the disapproving scowl she so often wore, she had an amused, almost knowing, grin on her face. She helped Scarlett dress, her rheumatic fingers fumbling at the mother of pearl buttons, and then, at her mistress's insistence, left Scarlett to do her own hair.

Scarlett fixed her tresses in a soft up-do, teasing a few soft curls from the pins and then she glanced at her small jewellery box, where she had placed her last gift from Rhett. She hadn't worn it yet – she hadn't had an occasion to wear it – but her fingers lingered over the box before she gave into temptation, opened it and took it out. It was still as elegant and stylish as she had remembered. Still so expensive looking. Still so Rhett, she mused and she found herself smiling at the thought of her husband. She took it out of its tissue paper and attached it to the side of her head and as it caught the early evening sun, it sparkled and gleamed.

She checked the clock again - it was only just after six o'clock. She had another half an hour before supper would be served and, rather than go down into the parlour and risk running into her husband, she sat at her vanity and attempted to pen a letter to Suellen and, when no words would flow, she tried to write to Carreen. After a couple of false starts, she gave up. It was no use. Her mind was only on one thing – one person - and that person wasn't either of her sisters. Or any other female.

When it was almost half past the hour, she walked down the hallway looking for Ella. Instead, she bumped into Mammy. "Miss Scarlett, if'n you is lookin' fo' Miss Ella, she in the kitchen, helping Dilcey ice the cake."

"A cake?"

"Yes'm, it's Pansy's birthday tomorrow."

"Yes of course," said Scarlett, hoping she'd remember in the morning. "Thank you Mammy. Please can you make sure Wade is not late for supper. He should be ready by now."

She descended the staircase, the small train on her dress hiccoughing as it dragged against each step. Upon reaching the bottom, she hesitated and her stomach turned, nervously. She couldn't hear her husband, much less see him. The doors to the library and what had previously been Rhett's study seemed firmly shut but she could just about make out the faint shadows of flickering candles from the parlour, newly lit in readiness for the sun settling for the night. Rhett must be in there, she thought, no doubt reading the newspaper or smoking a cigar and so she turned in the opposite direction, towards the dining room and kitchen. She would retrieve Ella and then they would go and sit in the dining room and wait for the men in the household to join them.

She moved softly across the hallway towards the kitchen, thankful that she hadn't yet ripped up the carpet as the thick fabric muted the sound of her footsteps. The door to the dining room had been left invitingly open and she could see that Dilcey had already set the table for four. As she walked past the entrance, the doorway was suddenly filled by a large, swarthy figure. She had no option but to stop.

"Good evening, Mrs Butler," and he smiled warmly at her. He was holding a glass of whisky and had loosened his cravat but otherwise, he was no different to when she had seen him a couple of hours earlier, or when she had spied him by the stables.

"I hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to some of your whisky."

"Why would I mind? I haven't replenished it since you…since last year," she responded, trying to avoid a combative tone.

"So I'm drinking my money not yours? That's fine then. I'll carry on." He grinned and walked over towards her and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her on her cheek. She turned ever so slightly, so that her face was not directly in his line of vision. She had to maintain distance, she reminded herself, to protect both of them.

"I'm…erm…sorry I haven't changed for dinner- I didn't have time to go back to the hotel," he said as his eyes took in her whole form, a salacious glint in his eye. She felt her stomach somersault again and instinctively, she placed her hand directly on her abdomen, vainly trying to calm it.

"Don't be silly, Rhett. There's really no need to change clothes. It's only me and the children," she scoffed, but she was secretly pleased that she had made an effort. He had always noticed what she was wearing, even when his eyes had been blazing in anger, or worst still, hate.

"And that's why _you've_ changed?" he mocked. "For the children and…me?"

"You conceited varmint!" she chided, light-heartedly. "I changed because I was at the store all morning, working in this sweltering heat. Anyway, no one else is coming. Unless you have issued some invitations that I don't know about."

"Who would I want to invite?"

"I don't know but you've always been so full of surprises." She paused for effect. "India, Aunt Pitty?" and she allowed a smile to creep onto her face.

"No thanks," he said dismissively as he took a couple of steps away from her and towards the decanter. "A couple of times a year in India's company is sufficient for me and your Aunt Pitty is more…endearing…in small doses. So, it's just us. If you want, we can try and play happy families," and his eyebrows went up in jest.

"With you and me? That would be a joke!" she said and immediately wished she had bitten her tongue - she hadn't needed to taste his bait but his ironic words had stung her.

"I suppose it would be," he said coolly and for a brief moment she wondered if she had hurt him. He refilled his glass, took a sip and then walked back over to her and studied her hair. Then, he said, "I knew this would look exquisite on you," and he reached gently towards her and ran his index finger along the length of the hair comb.

At his touch, she felt breathless and she took a step back. "It's beautiful, Rhett," she said. "I..I… never got the opportunity to say thank you." His hand went down to his side, but he maintained his proximity to her and she felt an old, familiar shiver go up her spine and her pulse quicken. Even after more than twelve years, this man still had too much of an effect on her than was decent, and she thought back to the visits he had made, when she was newly widowed, and living with Aunt Pitty and Melanie in Atlanta. When she had been in his presence or anticipating his arrival, she had always felt a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach, sometimes, too, a shakiness in her hands and limbs but, at the time, she had dismissed such palpitations as nothing more than excitement about what presents he might bring her. Now, with the benefit of maturity and with the shutters finally removed from her eyes, she realised it hadn't really been about the presents he would gift her – it had about been the excitement of seeing _him_. Oh, why had it taken her almost half her life to understand her feelings?

"Scarlett?" Rhett questioned, interrupting her nostalgia.

"Sorry darling..." The word slipped from her tongue, almost as a caress. Immediately she realised her error and quickly tried to recant, whilst she saw Rhett's evident mirth dawning his face. "Sorry, Rhett," she corrected and she turned away so that he couldn't see the blush rise unwelcomingly on her cheeks. "Please can you pour me a drink whilst I go and see where the children are. They should have been down..."

"You don't need to go and get them, Scarlett. There'll be with us shortly. Ella's in the kitchen, helping with Pansy's birthday cake – I think it would be the height of bad manners to interrupt them," he replied and again, he touched her, this time by placing his hand on her exposed forearm, to arrest her departure. Despite the stuffy air, the feel of his hand on her naked skin, gave her goosebumps. "Now, what would you like to drink, _darling_?" he said and laughed lightly. She furrowed her brow – she hated him teasing her.

"Anything…I don't mind…I'll just go to the kitchen and get Ella…" she started again, but Rhett just looked at her and then she emitted a defeated sigh, shook her head and diverted her eyes to the pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade and the bottle of wine that lay tempting her next to it. It was certainly dangerous to drink when Rhett was around but drinking helped her tolerate his presence, helped their relationship appear less awkward than it really was. And tonight was certainly likely to be awkward.

"I'll…" she cleared her throat, wondering if he could read her mind, like he had always professed to, and hoping that this was one occasion when he couldn't. She didn't want to appear unconfident. "A glass of wine would be nice. Thank you." He moved closer to the sideboard and then took the bottle and a corkscrew and popped the cork. He handed her an opaque glass. "Thank you," she said and sipped the wine, all the while hoping that one of the children would come in. She looked at the carriage clock that sat on the mantelpiece, ticking towards five minutes past the half hour. What was holding up Wade? It was unlike him to be tardy.

Rhett fixed his gaze on her for a moment and then pulled a chair out for Scarlett. She settled herself and then he pulled another one back – at the head of the table – and sat down adjacent to her.

"Wade's turning into a fine young man, Scarlett and a good rider. He handled the horse well, he's growing in confidence. You should let him ride Red Hunter more. God knows I paid enough money for the damn animal."

"Well, that wasn't my fault, was it?" she smarted. Then, softer, she said. "I wish you wouldn't overindulge the children, Rhett. You didn't need to spend eight hundred dollars on a horse. His pony is perfectly adequate."

"For a year or so more, perhaps. But he's getting tall and soon he'll be too big for it." He inhaled on his cigar. "And you're wrong. I did need to spend eight hundred dollars, Scarlett. I wanted to make sure any horse he rides has a reliable temperament and isn't going to throw him off." He looked at her, before he added, "You're not the only one with a memory."

"He didn't need a horse, though," Scarlett persisted. "Most of his friends don't have one. He could have ridden mine if he had really wanted to ride a horse."

"And he would have had to have asked your permission to ride it every time he wanted to. That wouldn't have worked now, would it?"

"Why couldn't he have just ridden your horse? It's not like you're going to be in need of it," and as she said it, she scolded herself for not thinking of it before. Why had Rhett bought another horse when there was a perfectly decent horse – Rhett's own - already in the stables?

"A good point but you're ignoring the fact that Red Hunter is better suited to Wade. And, whilst we are on the subject of horses, I don't want Ashley Wilkes riding my horse again. I believe I told you a long time ago, that I didn't want my money going towards the charity of Mr Wilkes. And that stands equally for my possessions. It's still my horse, Scarlett, even if I am not living here." At the mention of Ashley, Scarlett visibly blanched. She couldn't think how he had discovered that Ashley had ridden Rhett's horse and she frantically searched her mind. Of course, Wade must have told him! But somehow she doubted it – subconsciously, he appeared to have picked up on the dislike his stepfather had for his uncle. Pork must have told him, she thought, but again that didn't ring true. Then she remembered how her entourage had passed Belle Watling as they had travelled home from the river on Sunday. She would have been the traitor. She bridled at the thought of that woman and then looked at the master of disguise – his face as usual, hiding a score of secrets – and smirked.

"The horse needs to be ridden, Rhett," she said. "And I don't have the time." Even if she had, she wouldn't have got on its back – as handsome as the horse was, it had always appeared as unpredictable as its owner.

"Get one of the stable boys to ride it, then. You have enough of them." Scarlett scowled at him, angered by his command. Who exactly did he think he was to start ordering her what to do?

"I think I'll just sell him," Scarlett said provocatively. "And whilst I'm at it, maybe I'll sell Red Hunter too. This household doesn't need all these ponies and horses. They're too expensive."

"I think you'll find you can't sell what's not yours."

"Just watch me," she said coolly. "Or if you are so attached to your horse, Rhett, take him with you. At least then I won't have to feed it. And it should prove good company for you as it seems to be the only living creature that understands you."

"I guess it has more intelligence than you, then," he swiped. "But then, that's not difficult."

She stood up quickly, glowering at him, hating him. Hating how he could turn her feelings upside down so quickly, hating how anything about Ashley Wilkes always seemed to precipitate an argument between them. "This isn't your home anymore, Rhett, and I don't need to listen to you belittle me, even though it is your favourite pastime. I think you should just leave."

"No," he replied, matching her fiery stare with one as equally icy. "I'm not going anywhere. At least not for a couple of hours. I told the children I would have supper with them and I don't intend to break that promise."

"Why not? You haven't had any problem breaking your marriage…" but Scarlett didn't finish because she suddenly heard Ella start to cry. They both turned and the little girl stood rigid, icing sugar matted in her curls, as fat tears started to roll down her sun-kissed cheeks. "Now look what you've done," Scarlett muttered to her husband and she rushed across the carpet and scooped up her daughter in her arms. "It's alright, honey," Scarlett soothed, unsure exactly what her daughter had witnessed had unable to recall the precise words that had been exchanged. "Your Uncle Rhett and I were just disagreeing about how many ice-creams you can have in Charleston. Weren't we?" Scarlett shot a look at Rhett, willing him to agree with her.

Rhett walked towards his stepdaughter and wife and ruffled Ella's hair. He then whispered conspiratorially into Ella's ear, "What your mother doesn't know, won't hurt her. You can eat as much ice-cream as you want." She lifted her head from her mother's shoulder and Rhett kissed her on her forehead. "Why don't you come and sit next to me for supper and Wade can sit next to your mother?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Supper went as smoothly as Scarlett could have hoped for or expected and she deliberately steered the conversation away from anything other than neutral topics. She filled Rhett in on what had been happening at Tara – even though she sensed he was uninterested – and the store, omitting the Hugh pricing debacle. Wade talked about being taught to fish by Andy Bonnell, along with Beau and Tommy Whiting, and then the conversation turned to the pending trip to Charleston. Both the children sat quietly, listening attentively to their stepfather's words, as he described his mother's house that bordered a river, the history of the city and the long beaches that bordered the ocean where he had learnt to sail.

"Can we go sailing too, Uncle Rhett?" said Wade eagerly.

"If the sea is calm enough, I don't see why not," and Ella smiled radiantly. "And if not, we can take a rowing boat on the Ashley river or the Cooper river."

"It's going to be so much fun!" exclaimed Wade. "I wish we were there already!" He looked at his stepfather, grinning broadly before he looked at his mother, who had remained quieter than usual.

As he took in his mother's composure, he recalled the conversation that they had had earlier in the week. He still didn't quite understand his mother's reluctance to travel with them and, buoyed by his own enthusiasm, and the tales his Uncle Rhett had been entertaining them with, he plucked up the courage to reopen the topic.

"Uncle Rhett, why can't Mother come with us? To Charleston I mean."

As soon as she heard her son's question, Scarlett felt her temperature rise and a flash of tension between her temples. She swallowed hard and quickly.

"I have already explained, Wade, I have the store to look after, I have this house to run…"

"But you _could_ come, Mother. I know you could. Miss Emma and…"

"Wade, please. That's enough. We don't need to have this discussion again. I can't go to Charleston…"

"Uncle Rhett, can Mother come too?" Wade asked, flagrantly ignoring his mother's protests. Scarlett loured at her son and avowed to chastise him later. Heavens above, he was beginning to show similar traits to his own stepfather. Where was the placidity of the Hamiltons when she needed it?

Rhett looked at his startled wife, who had started shifting awkwardly in her chair. "Your mother is welcome to come with us. If she wants."

"Rhett, you know it's impossible. I can't just leave Atlanta at the drop of a hat!"

"Come for the second week then - if being the owner of your own business really doesn't give you the freedom to come for the full two weeks."

Scarlett looked at her son whose eyes were silently challenging her and then at Ella whose face was lit up with the brightest smile that Scarlett had ever seen her wear. Then finally, she looked at her husband. She couldn't read him, couldn't read what he actually thought of Wade's outlandish proposal. He was sitting back casually in his chair, watching her, as though it was a game to him and she was the main player.

"I'll…well…" she cleared her throat, trying to think urgently of a plausible excuse. Her mind was a befuddled mess and the alcohol she had drunk during supper wasn't helping. Was Rhett waiting for her to agree, only to use it against her later? To laugh at her naivety that the four of them could actually vacation together in some semblance of normality? To make an attempt, of sorts, to play the roles of husband and wife, and mother and father to the children? Did he want her to go? Or was he expecting her to deny Wade's request so that he couldn't be blamed for further damaging the family?

"Do you really want me to come?" she asked, looking at Wade but in her thoughts, directing the question to her husband.

"Yes Mother," replied Wade and she saw Ella nod her head vigorously. She kept her eyes fixed on her children and didn't dare look at Rhett. She didn't want to see his jeering mask that would indicate she was being ensnared. She felt so vulnerable, terrified even, that this was a ploy to humiliate her. He had deliberately spent months apart from her – so why would he want her company now?

"I'll…well…you see Wade…" She felt trapped and by her own son! This was Wade's fault!

"Listen Scarlett, why don't you think about it," Rhett said and she forced herself to look at him. "We're leaving tomorrow but there isn't really a fixed time for departure. We can catch a later train if you need time to pack. Or you can come to Charleston the following week, as I suggested. Or if you really don't think you can spare Atlanta with your absence, you needn't come at all."

"Can you think about it, Mother, please?" Wade pleaded.

"Yes…" Scarlett managed to stammer. "I can think about it."

"Good," said Rhett and he refilled Scarlett's wine glass, and then his own, before he continued to eat.

Scarlett had lost her appetite and she pushed the food around her plate rather than ate it. She couldn't clear her head from the whirling of the competing arguments - against staying in Atlanta and going to Charleston - and neither could she concentrate on the conversations that Wade and Ella were conducting with Rhett. A couple of times one of them asked her a question and she replied monosyllabically, but without knowing what she was responding to. Everything was blurred, her senses out of kilter and she was willing the evening to end. And quickly. She needed to be on her own.

"Uncle Rhett, I fell into the river on Sunday!" Ella suddenly announced, jolting Scarlett from her thoughts.

"Don't interrupt your brother," scolded Scarlett, silently wishing that the episode had remained unspoken. "Wade, what were you saying?"

"I've finished, Mother," Wade chimed in. "I was only explaining to Uncle Rhett the rules of trigonometry. Go on Ella, tell Uncle Rhett what happened"

All eyes turned to Ella and she shrugged gauchely. She didn't say anything.

"We went to a picnic by the river," Wade volunteered, trying to encourage his sister. "Mother, Uncle Ashley, Aunt India, Beau…"

"And Uncle Ashley rode on your horse!" Ella cried.

"So I have heard," he said, his ambivalent tone belying the anger that Scarlett felt sure was bubbling at the surface.

"And Mr and Mrs Picard were there with Raoul and Napoleon…" Wade continued.

"And Anne-Marie and Charlie," Ella added. She had lately become obsessed with babies. "And Jack…"

"Mr Picard to you, young lady," Scarlett quickly corrected.

"And…who else was there, Mother?" Ella asked, turning towards Scarlett.

"Just some other friends, Ella. You don't need to list them all."

"Well, there were lots of people, Uncle Rhett, and we all ate dinner and then Wade and Beau and Raoul and…some other boys tried to catch some fish in the water. But that was boring so I tried to catch dragonflies and I ran a long way away because the dragonflies kept on escaping from my hands and then I fell into the river. I almost drowned!" Ella exclaimed, proudly.

"No you didn't," said Wade. "You're exaggerating, Ella."

"I did, didn't I, Mother?"

Wade rolled his eyes. "You didn't, Ella. You were only in the water for a short time. You weren't going to drown."

"I was going to drown, wasn't I?" Ella said, looking at Scarlett

"No you weren't," said Wade.

"I wasn't talking to you! I did almost drown, didn't I Mother?" Ella repeated, her blue eyes pleading with Scarlett to agree to her assertion and her small face starting to crumple.

"I suppose you did," conceded Scarlett, wanting to bring the conversation to a close as soon as possible. Ella stuck her tongue out at her brother.

"Ella, Mother started running as soon as you fell in. Mother would have jumped into the water and saved you," Wade said, exasperatedly.

Rhett had been listening to the sibling squabbling with an amused look on his face but his mien changed at Wade's last statement. "So _you_ went into the river?" Rhett asked, looking at his wife.

"No I…I would have, but Jack said the current was too strong and he insisted he was a better swimmer. So he jumped in."

"Jack Picard to the rescue," said Rhett nonchalantly but when Scarlett met his stare, his eyes seemed anything but nonchalant - they flickered with an emotion that Scarlett didn't quite understand. Disdain? Irritation?

"Yes he did!" piped in Ella. "I had to hold on to him and we swam for miles and then he handed me to Mr Picard and I was saved! It was horrible in the water. It was cold and scary."

"I bet it was, sweetheart," Rhett said, stroking her curls. "We need to teach you how to swim. I know a safe place in Charleston, where I learnt as a boy. We can go there with my sister Rosemary next week. She's a good swimmer."

"Can we?" and her eyes lit up.

"Of course we can."

"Afterwards, because I almost drowned, Ja…Mr Picard said I could ride home with him on his horse. But I fell asleep and he carried me…."

"Yes, yes, Ella. Uncle Rhett doesn't need to hear all the details," Scarlett said.

"Yes I do," he rebuked softly. "I need to know…I have a right to know…what's going on with…Ella and Wade."

Scarlett exhaled sharply but, mindful of the unpleasantness Ella had witnessed earlier, didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to her daughter, "Ella, it's getting late. Please finish your milk and then I think you should think about going upstairs to bed. And you too, Wade. You have a long day of travelling ahead of you tomorrow."

"Can you read me a story?" Ella asked, looking at her stepfather.

Scarlett was about to declare that she would read the story – she didn't want her husband going upstairs or lingering any longer than was absolutely necessary – but Rhett beat her to it.

"Of course I can. How about Alice in Wonderland?"

"That's my favourite book," cried Ella and she beamed delightedly at her stepfather and gulped down her milk.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Scarlett sat in the dining room, drinking some tea, when Rhett reappeared.

"She's in bed, then?" Scarlett asked.

"Fast asleep," replied Rhett as he retook his seat at the table. "And Wade won't be too much longer. I stopped by his room before I came down. He was reading but his eyelids looked pretty heavy."

Scarlett glanced at her husband and wondered how much longer he was intending to stay. But he seemed to be in no hurry to return to his hotel, or wherever it was that he would lay his head for the night. He lit a cigar and then helped himself to some whisky and, without asking her, poured Scarlett a small brandy. The silence filled the room and made her feel uncomfortable but Rhett seemed lost in his own thoughts, incognisant to his wife's awkwardness.

"I suppose I need to thank Jack for his heroics with Ella," he said after a while. Scarlett looked up at him, cautiously, unsure of where he was going to take the conversation but knowing that she did not want to discuss Jack or anything about how she had been spending her time.

"I'll pass on your thanks," she said and she took a sip from her glass.

"Maybe I should do it myself. Pass on my thanks, that is. It might be interesting to see Mr Jack Picard again..." He drew out the first syllable of the surname as though he was making fun of the man. Or perhaps he was making fun of her. She caught his gaze, hoping for some indication of what he was really thinking but his black eyes were as inscrutable as ever. He breathed in his cigar smoke and then exhaled deeply before adding, "And whilst I am at it, I might as well check that his intentions towards you are… erm…honourable."

"Stop it, Rhett," said Scarlett irritably. "He has no _intentions_ towards me. He's just a friend."

"Is that what they call it these days? I'll have to remember that line."

Scarlett sat up abruptly, straightening her back against the carving of the chair, and placed her hands on the table. She was tired and feeling slightly woozy from the alcohol that Rhett had been plying her with all evening. Her bed suddenly appeared very appealing. If she could only lay her head on her cool pillow and shut her eyes…

"I'm going to…"

"She certainly doesn't seem harmed by the incident," Rhett interrupted. He drew again on his cigar. "Ella that is."

"No, I don't suppose she is," she replied. She felt his penetrating stare as much as she saw it. It was as though he was boring into her skull, her soul and she found it unnerving. She looked at the clock. It was after nine o'clock but he was making no move to leave. Well then, she would have to be the one to draw the evening to a close. She pretended to yawn and rubbed her eyes. "Good night Rhett. I'd be grateful if…"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Why would you be sorry you weren't there?" And then because she couldn't help herself, she added, "You made your choice in October. If you were truly sorry you would have…"

"Because I should have been," he said evenly. "I should have been the one to save her. Not some _paramour_ of her mother's." Scarlett shot him an inflamed look but managed to bite her tongue. Previously, his barbs had been more veiled, now they were blatant and direct. "I am her father after all…" Scarlett frowned derisively but he continued, "…not technically, not biologically but to all intents and purposes…"

"How do you figure that out?" God, this man was insufferable sometimes! And still as arrogant as the first day she ever laid eyes on him. "If you really felt like a father towards Ella, if you were a _proper_ father, you wouldn't have walked out on me and her. And Wade. You would have stayed. You would have tried to have worked things through with me, with their mother." She fired out the words as though they were little pellets from one of his rifles. For a moment, he seemed to visibly recoil before he looked down at his glass and twisted it between his large, tanned hands. There was another pause, whilst Scarlett seethed in bitterness and Rhett reaffixed his bland mask.

"It might not seem that way to you but you're hardly the most perceptive creature. I've often thought of Ella as mine – more so than Wade. Not that I don't love your son but Ella…well, if I hadn't been in jail when you came pleading with me for the tax money, she would have been mine."

"What are you saying? That I…that we…" She looked at him, an iridescent fire burning in her green eyes. "I've always wondered whether you would have taken me up on my offer if you had been able to access the money," she snapped. "Thank you for satisfying my curiosity." She paused, chewing over his words. "And what makes you think that I would have become pregnant if we had…I mean, if I…" Oh God, she hated thinking about that day, the utter humiliation of offering herself up on a plate only to be rejected but did the varmint really have such preconceptions about his virility that he thought she would have gotten with child after one illicit night? "I was only intending for us to be together once," she spat out.

He started laughing, softly, in the patronising manner that he had so often used during their marriage. "My dear Scarlett. I think you have missed my point."

"I don't think so! How can I have missed your point? You cad…you…"

"Why do you think it would only have been one night?"

His abrupt question temporarily silenced her. He had caught her out. Even now, years after the event, she couldn't erase from her memory the fact that, if it had meant saving Tara, she had fully intended to set herself up as Rhett's mistress on a permanent basis. Although she had had no real idea of what that would have entailed.

"Because I…well, I…oh for God's sake, Rhett, I don't want to talk about it. It's so long ago."

"I would have married you, Scarlett," he said coolly, staring at her, challenging her to disbelieve him. "I would have lent you the money and then I would have married you. Or maybe I would have married you and then lent you the money. Who knows? But I couldn't do either as I had no idea how long I would be in jail – or, indeed, if I would ever be let out."

"Oh don't be so ridiculous! Matrimony was furthest from your mind. All you were interested in was getting me…"

"How do you know?" He drained his glass before he sat back and observed his wife. He could see her eyes sparkling with defiance, those intoxicating emerald cats' eyes that had seduced him from the very first day she had hurled the vase at him in the library at Twelve Oaks. On the tip of her tongue was some nasty retort but something stopped her from saying it. Was he telling her the truth or was she about to fall into another of his traps that he had so expertly laid?

"But I…well…you…I…mean…" she stammered but her thoughts were no longer coherent and her words even less so. Another hush fell between them and without taking his eyes off her, he reached for the half full bottle of wine that lay like Eve's apple on the table, and poured each of them a glass.

"You've always been so good at reading me, haven't you? I had made up my mind to relinquish my bachelorhood when I was fighting in the war…maybe even before…if I could educe a "yes" from you to a proposal of marriage. But I had to be sure you would say "yes"." Then, he added softly, "I don't particularly like feeling rejected or a failure." He paused as he watched her face contort with anger then disbelief. Finally, her jaw softened and she relaxed as she started to digest his words. Was he playing a cruel joke on her? Or was he speaking the truth?

She leapt on his last word. "You a failure? Ha! You've never failed at anything!" she jeered.

"Oh but I did. I failed when it came to you, didn't I?" His voice was flat, in contrast to Scarlett's evident indignation. "Despite my best efforts, despite all the money and gifts I threw at you and despite my…er… good looks, even my excellent kissing and erm…other… skills, I failed didn't I?"

"Are you telling me that you would have married me – if you could have – even if you could have had me as your…mistress?"

"Scarlett, do you really think that I would have…erm…taken you to my bed without the benefit of a wedding ring, knowing that you would have hated every minute of it, hated me…I mean…" He cleared his throat and she saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes that had suddenly reappeared again and which had been absent earlier when he had first arrived on her doorstep – a mixture of conceit and mockery. "Not that I don't pride myself on my….prowess…but you would have hated me, hated me for ruining you."

"And I don't hate you now for how you have ruined me?" The words tripped off her tongue before she had even thought through them.

""There's nothing in this world as sweet as love, and next to love the sweetest thing is hate,"" he quoted and then looked at his bemused wife. "There's a thin line between love and hate, darling. They are born from the same emotions. Besides," he said, tapping the ash from his cigar, "I know you don't hate me. You've told me on at least two occasions that you…"

"Feelings change, Rhett," she interjected, just before he mentioned the four letter word that she had resolved she would never again allow to pass her lips to describe how she felt about him. "You're testament to that." Rhett leaned forward across the table and looked at his wife. She didn't blink and instead returned his stare before she finally broke it and looked down at her wedding ring. It remained unaccompanied – she hadn't put on her engagement ring since she had removed it on the day of the picnic.

"I'm telling you the truth Scarlett," he said quietly. She looked at him again, at his normally indecipherable face, into his black eyes and she couldn't detect any jest or malice. "Never in a million years would I have taken you as my mistress. Even when I was in jail. Of course, I wanted to satisfy my carnal lusts when it came to you and I might have been sorely tempted to take you up on your delightful offer – after all, I wasn't totally immune to your feminine wiles but I couldn't risk you hating me. I wanted you as my wife because we're cut from the same cloth and, for the most part, you think like me. And you're a Southerner, if not exactly a lady. I never really intended on setting you up as my mistress – whatever I might have said to the contrary."

"Really?" she said and the word arrested in her throat. His disclosure had been so unexpected that it had caught her unawares.

"Really," he replied and then in a husky whisper he added, "And of course, I was crazily in love with you. In love with you like I've never been in love with anyone else and I expect never will be again. Thank God. Loving you is too exhausting." For some reason, as he spoke, she remembered the words of Gerald, words that she had not thought of in over thirteen years, words that her father had said to her on the eve of that last Twelve Oaks' barbeque. "_It doesn't matter who you marry, as long as he thinks like you and is a gentleman and a Southerner and prideful." _Rhett had certainly been all of those and more and she had a feeling that her father would have approved of her third choice of husband, if not her mother.

"But…you told me…I mean when I was in the jail with you, you repeated what you said about you not being a marrying man…why…I mean…" She was perplexed.

"I think you're misremembering, darling. If I recall correctly, I said very little. You see, I was quite hurt by your deceit and you had rather knocked the wind out of my sails. It was you that assumed that I only wanted you as my mistress. I think your exact words were "_I have myself_," and, "_If you still want me, you can have me." _I think at some point I asked you outright if what you were proposing was that for three hundred dollars you would become my mistress but I didn't actually repeat my mantra about not being a marrying man." She didn't say anything. "Didn't it happen something like that?"

"I…I…don't remember. I just know that you had always made it pretty clear that all you wanted from me was…myself."

"Yourself? You mean your body…" Scarlett nodded. "Naturally. I mean, the last time I checked I think I was human. And male."

"Yes…well…I mean…I know _now_ you loved me but if you could have had me as a mistress…you wouldn't have had to get married and break your own code. You could have had the best of both worlds."

"That's true. But, when it came to you Scarlett, I always wanted so much more. And maybe I'm more Southern than I like to acknowledge." He tapped his cigar firmly against the plate again, dispersing grey and black ash. "And I knew that I could never hope that you would love me if I took you as my mistress. Good God, you can hardly bear to talk about it now, it embarrasses you so much! No, I had realised pretty early on that I would have to marry you. But working out how to achieve it was the hard part and of course I hoped in vain that Ashley Wilkes would fade from your memory." What was he trying to tell her? Would he really have married her years before he actually did? But then a buried memory from the night of Melly's death reasserted itself, when the fog in her head had finally cleared and she was running towards what she thought would be Rhett's waiting arms. All the memories of what he had done for her over the previous twelve years had flooded into her mind and, coupled with Melly's bald statement of her husband's love for her, she had finally understood that her husband did love her. Had done so for years and years. And she had thought back briefly to her visit to the jail and realised he had never intended to make her his mistress, he had just been testing her.

"But why didn't you say something…at the jail…" and her voice faltered.

"I didn't because I knew that I couldn't marry you – not then anyway. And, my darling, you had rather wounded my pride that you had come to extract money from me rather than to check on my wellbeing."

"But I was concerned about you!"

"Hmmm…No. Sorry. I'm not going to give you that. The only thing that was running through that pretty little head of yours at the time was dollar signs. I am not sure you could have given a damn quite frankly if I had been hung or had lived….I was _this_ close to making a huge fool of myself. Thank God, I saw your hands and you are so oblivious to obviousness! It saved me from complete humiliation." She nestled back into the chair and for the first time since his reappearance, Scarlett thought she saw his familiar cat-at-a-mouse-hole look. Why was he saying all this now, when it was too late? Before, his comments would have stoked her temper but now…now…

"Rhett, you know, you were the only person in the world that I could have ever offered…myself…in that way."

"Because I was the only cad you knew? Or because I had already sewn the seed on your Aunt Pitty's porch? Or because you knew I had had mistresses before – quite conspicuously so?" He smiled but his usual, ubiquitous malice was still absent.

"Maybe all of those. And because I knew you had money," Scarlett said, returning the smile coyly, her head slightly spinning from the effects of alcohol. "But also because…well…" she averted her eyes as she spoke. "There was always something so…exciting about you…and even though I would have dreaded it and _probably_ hated you for it…" she said, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "I was curious about you and how it would…be…between us." She took a further sip of her wine and then drained the glass, only for Rhett to reach across and fill it up again. She took another sip before she added. "I often think back to what might have happened if I had met you now, now that I am older and I think wiser. I would have better understood why my… heart always fluttered whenever I saw you."

He let out an uproarious laugh. "Oh do hush up," Scarlett demanded quickly. But he didn't and continued laughing. She dragged her chair back on the floor. "If you're going to make fun of me, then I'm going to bed and you can see yourself out."

"Sorry Scarlett. That was wrong of me. I've always enjoyed listening to ladies' turns of phrase when they try and describe the baser human traits." She remained standing, looking down at him. "Please, sit down. I won't laugh at you again. I'm not ready to leave yet and I don't think it would be wise to leave me in this house…unchaperoned." She sighed and reluctantly plumped herself down on her chair.

"I don't appreciate you always making fun of me, Rhett. It hurts," she said quietly. "That's one thing I won't miss from our marriage."

"I was trying to get you to laugh with me, Scarlett. Don't always take things so much to heart."

"I can't help it. That's who I am."

He smiled at her. "Alright darling." He stubbed out his cigar, which, Scarlett thought, was surely his cue to leave, but instead he withdrew his monogramed case and took out another one. He rolled the cheroot – backwards and forwards – between his fingers and then he looked at her, a roguish sparkle glistening in his pupils. "Tell me, Scarlett, if I made your…er…heart flutter whenever you…saw me…what did I do to you on our wedding night?"

"Rhett Butler!" she exclaimed and her brow narrowed in anger. "Why you conceited thing you…how dare you…I…well. You are incorrigible!"

"That's a big word for you Scarlett."

"Oh you are just…"

"I know, I know. I plead guilty to all charges. I was only asking you an innocent question though."

"Innocent? You don't know the meaning of the word!"

"Hmm…I think I do. Weren't you pretty innocent? Before you married me." He reached into his waistcoat pocket for some matches and finally lit the cigar that he had been toying with.

"What do you mean?" she smarted. "I had been married twice before."

"You hadn't really been married, darling. Not properly…"

"Of course I had! I had had Wade and Ella, hadn't I?"

"I think I surprised you on our wedding night…in fact, I would even wager that you might have even enjoyed…"

"If you are going to sit there and…Good God Rhett. What's got into you?" She stood up clinging on to the edges of the oak table that stretched in front of her, desperately trying to appear decorous despite the effects that almost a bottle of wine and a measure of brandy were having on her. "It's getting late and I…think it's best if we go to bed…"

He started laughing at her, again. "Is that an invitation, Mrs Butler?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"There you go again! Separately of course," she amended and she knew she was blushing. "You back to the National and me to my bedroom. Please Rhett."

"I'll go back to the hotel darling just as soon as I have finished this glass of wine. It would be… discourteous not to at least finish what my hostess has served me – or rather I have served myself," and he emitted a low chuckle as he brought his newly lit cigar to his lips again.

"You can take the wine with you, if you want," Scarlett volunteered. Oh, she needed him to leave now. Not in ten minutes, not even five.

"How very generous of you, Mrs Butler…but I think I would prefer to finish it here rather than on my own in the honeymoon suite."

"You're staying there?" The memory of that almost idyllic period in the infancy of their marriage washed over her. Was that the happiest she had been in her adulthood?

"It was all they had available at short notice or so they told me. I guess no fool but a Charleston fool is silly enough to pay the price for it." Another quiet descended over them as she mulled over his words and the memories and he sat smoking and sipping on the wine. Finally, after it seemed that an aeon had passed, he broke the pregnant pause, "You know…erm…you could do as Wade suggested?" but he avoided her stare.

"What was that?" she asked demurely, with a hint of the coquette.

"I've told you for a long time that your Southern belle charms will work no favours on me," Rhett replied sternly and raised his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"So are you suggesting that I come to Charleston with you and the children?" He nodded slowly. "Well, I said I'd think about it but I'm not sure I can leave the store…"

"If that's the best excuse you can come up with, you'll be coming to Charleston. Tomorrow. I understand from…Wade…that the store is running perfectly well. Especially with the newly invigorated Hugh Elsing and his _charming_ assistant Emma."

"I've got so much to do…"

"And you could see your aunts who I am sure feel utterly abandoned by you. When was the last time you saw them? Thirteen years ago?"

"No. I saw Aunt Eulalie at Christmas. She came and stayed with us for a few days. Oh Rhett…I can't…"

"Yes you can," he said simply. "You can come. If you want to." She stared at him, feeling almost as lightheaded as when he had proposed to her in Aunt Pitty's parlour. Why was he so adamant that she should come? It _should _be the last thing he should want.

"But where would I sleep?" she said and immediately wished she could retract. Wine always loosened her tongue.

He laughed again, hard, his shoulders shaking in amusement and his stance reminded Scarlett of the old Rhett - the Rhett that she had whiled away her widowhood with when she had first came to Atlanta and who provided a perfect foil to her during her marriage to Frank. The Rhett she could be honest with, the Rhett she could laugh at herself and life with, without worrying about whether he would use the information he gleaned from her to then hurt her and break her, as he had done when their marriage had lain a smouldering wreck. "Oh my darling, you never cease to amuse me. Even after all these years. Is that why you are so reluctant? You're scared that I won't be able to keep my hands to myself and resist you? Do you not think I have had plenty of practice at exercising self-restraint when it comes to you?" He leaned across the table. "Don't worry, sweetheart, my mother's house has…erm…plenty of bedrooms. I assure you, you can have your own bedroom, even if I am banished to the hammock in the back yard." He grinned at her, confidently and flirtatiously.

Scarlett smiled too, unguarded, happy and thinking that perhaps a week or so in Charleston might be fun and perhaps...

"So will you think about it? I know my mother would like to see you and it would help dispel any rumours with your aunts that…well…we…have…erm…gone our separate ways."

"I'll think about it," Scarlett said before she too drained her glass but having already made up her mind.

Rhett looked at both their empty glasses and then looked at the side cabinet. "Do you mind if I open another bottle, Scarlett?"

"Is that wise?" asked Scarlett, breathless, her heart heaving, her senses out of sorts, her desire catching in her throat. God, how she wanted to touch him, kiss him, lead him up the stairs. Or be carried up the stairs.

He shrugged. "Who cares? I want to…" he looked at her, his eyes gleaming in that old way that used to send her heart racing eye and then he stood up and walked over to the oak cabinet and took another bottle of French wine that he had had shipped over from France last summer, just before Bonnie died. She heard the cork pop and then the sound of the smooth liquid pouring into fresh glasses. Glasses that his mother had sent in honour of their marriage. She didn't turn around but heard him walk back over behind her before he leaned across her, his body brushing against her arm as he put a fresh glass in front of her. "The night is still young, Mrs Butler and I want to…" but again, he didn't complete his sentence, or she didn't hear it, and instead she felt his breath on her neck and then his fingers lift her hair up to reveal the alabaster throat that he had always marvelled at, that he had never been able to resist. She thought she could feel his lips brush ever so lightly across the nape of her neck but then wondered if she was imagining it. She was immobilised and even if she could have, she wouldn't have dared move. Oh dear God, she wanted him so much even if…

She stopped herself, pushed back any of her desires and stood up abruptly. "Rhett, I…" She looked at him, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say but he was smiling in that cocksure manner of his that she had always found maddening. God, what was this man doing to her? Was he really some sort of animal that he would get her drunk, try and seduce her, even though he knew she could break from the pain, when he told her it meant nothing to him? She had been down that road once before and she wasn't so foolish as to make the same mistake twice. Or three times. "I…erm…think it would be better if you went now. Please. I'm tired and I need to go to bed. Alone. And I need to know you won't be here in the morning. Please leave."

"You seem to have a habit of asking me to leave. It's my home too isn't it? Strange how I am being asked to leave a place that I bought…"

"It's not your home anymore though is it? Unless you..."

"Unless I what Scarlett?"

"It's not your home, Rhett," she managed to repeat. Her head was whirling and she felt dizzy from the wine, the late hour, his aroma. He moved closer towards her.

"Unless I what…" he murmured. He was looking down at her so closely that she could see her reflection in his black, oval orbs. She felt her bottom lip tremble and her knees give way and an ache between her legs as a multitude of thoughts ran through her mind. Unless you tell me you want to live here. With me and the children. Unless you tell me you could perhaps learn to love me again. Unless you tell me that we can try and work at our marriage. She wanted to say all of that, but his proximity to her had cauterised her vocal chords. She had no voice, she felt powerless, clay in his hands.

He moved his head so that his lips were hovering above hers. "Unless I kiss you? Is that what you were you going to say?" he whispered and even though she felt drunk, she had enough sobriety to detect a slight uncertainty in his voice. His lips started brushing carelessly against her hair and this time she wasn't imagining it. They then slowly moved down to her own lips, softly, probing, persistent. She tried to open her mouth to protest but no words came out and instead he sealed her silence by placing his mouth gently on hers. Why was he doing this? she thought, over and over again. Then she became aware of her dress loosening as he started to undo the buttons at the back of her gown. His lips were no longer on her mouth but were exploring further down her body, towards her chest. Her heart was racing so much that she wouldn't have been surprised if it had jumped from her chest cavity.

"Rhett, I…" but she didn't know what to say because she didn't know what to do. She didn't know whether to just let things happen or to stop them. If she could stop them.

"Do I have to leave?" he whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her pulse race even faster.

"No…yes…no…" she articulated, her words interspersed between his kisses. He wrapped his arms around her tighter.

"Shall we…" and he nodded towards the dining room door, which led to the hallway, which led to the staircase, which would ultimately lead to her bedroom.

And as she kissed him, and as he kissed her she suddenly thought of that hollow, destructive feeling that he had left her with last time. He wasn't offering her anything new, he hadn't said he loved her, he was treating her, no doubt, like one of his mistresses. But she wasn't, she was his wife and just as, once a long time ago, he had wanted so much more from her, she wanted so much more from him.

"Rhett, please…" she finally said and she pushed her hands against his chest.

"What darling?" He looked at her, suspiciously.

"I….I can't…do this…I…please Rhett. I think you should go back to your hotel now before anything happens. I'm not sure if this is a good idea." She finally managed to extricate herself from his embrace and took a few steps towards the exit. Rhett Butler had always been dangerous but she was only now beginning to understand exactly how dangerous.

He stood inert, staring at her and when the intensity of his gaze was too much she turned her back on him, towards the open door. "Good night, Rhett," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."

_Hmmm- I can't quite work out whether Rhett would really have acted like this but there was this amazing physical attraction between them, so perhaps he couldn't resist her – although I think he would have been a bit wary after last time – and he is a cad but I think he wouldn't deliberately hurt her. And all the talk of mistresses and her "heart fluttering" might have made him want her again. Anyway – this scene is important for the next chapter (last one in this particular sequence before we get into the downward slope). Feel that this might have dragged a bit – tried to cut it back but couldn't work out what to cut – so any suggestions please voice them! And I have definitely not got the snappiness of Ondine or Eugiene Victoria's "It's Complicated" – but I guess this is a different style. Was a bit nervous posting this so let me know what you think. _

_Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. Thanks especially to Alison and Coco for allowing me to bounce off some thoughts/ideas with them. I am amazed at some people's analysis and interpretation of Scarlett and Rhett's relationship and GWTW – always so perceptive! I love the discussions that appear on this board. Aramanta1985 – sorry you didn't quite get what you wanted. (I have seen you have just posted so will read your story shortly!). LoveGWTW – I met my promised deadline to you!_


	24. Chapter 24

_Well, what a struggle this was to write but thankfully the block started to crumble. I have decided to post this even though I had originally wanted to cover an additional two scenes – but thought I might as well get this up – and thanks to Ondine for the suggestion of maybe just post what I had written and was happy with! So this was meant to be the last chapter in Act II but Chapter 25 will now be…Once again, thank you to Alison and Coco for answering my PMs when I wanted to check that my thoughts on GWTW weren't totally out of sync; thanks to Anon and Hannah for pushing me to update; and of course to Guardian Spirit and Julia for their tireless reviewing! Thanks to the wonderful Dixie for helping me on the use of tenses (I hope I got it right…) Oh, and Katie (if you are still out there) I re-read the chapter with Jack and Scarlett and I hated the dialogue too! Definitely room for improvement. When I have finished this story, I will go back and amend…_

**Chapter 24**

Scarlett dozed on and off into the early hours of the morning, her light dreaming almost entirely focussed on Rhett and the two weeks that she would spend with him and the children in his childhood city. When she woke up – and she did so frequently – a wave of giddy excitement would wash over her. She hadn't felt like this since the night before the last Twelve Oaks barbeque, when she had harboured misguided hopes of Ashley and elopement. But even that feeling didn't quite compare to how she felt now.

It seemed that, at least for the two weeks in Charleston, they were going to be a family and the thought made her smile. They had never really been a family – either when Bonnie had been alive to glue her parents together or in that relatively easy first year of the Butler marriage. They had never vacationed together, they had never gone on excursions together, never even had a family picnic. The most they had ever done as a family was visit Ashley, Melanie and Beau and Aunt Pitty, usually on a Sunday for afternoon tea; otherwise it had always been Rhett taking the children out. Alone and deliberately so. One of his subtle ways of trying to hurt and spite her.

But as she stretched luxuriously under the coverlet, her mind recovered a singular, precious but previously forgotten memory. It had been the middle of August and she had been almost four months' pregnant with Bonnie. One morning, to her annoyance, she had been woken from her slumber at an ungodly hour by her husband tickling her feet and then he had stirred her properly by planting languid kisses all the way up her body. He had already been up for a couple of hours – it seemed he only needed half the sleep she did – and he had decided impulsively that they needed to go to a horse fair in Jonesboro, all four of them, ostensibly to purchase Wade his first pony. Rhett had wanted to leave on the first train out of Atlanta in the morning in order to beat the rush and whilst Mammy got the children ready, Scarlett had dressed under the discerning gaze of her husband.

As she rummaged through her closet, trying to identify a dress that would fit her expanding shape, she elicited audible sighs and then in a fit of pique after trying on three dresses in a row that she could not even button half way up, she threw the dresses on the floor and started crying. "I hate how women have to go through this," she screamed. "I hate how a baby makes me fat and ugly. I hate being pregnant!" Rhett, swift as a cheetah, instantly was by her side and then took her in his arms. "Honey! Darling!" he said smoothing her scowl with his adroit fingers. "You look beautiful. You could never be ugly and I think you are even more beautiful when you are pregnant than when you are not," and he cradled her slightly protruding stomach as they stood facing a mirror, before he turned her round and started kissing her, gently and reassuringly at first, before his kisses got more heated – in that way that always made her tremble.

Scarlett's tears stopped and as his kisses became more urgent, she forgot about the baby growing inside her and all she could think of was her husband and how wonderful he could make her feel at times. "We'll miss that train," she remembered whispering to him as he had lifted her onto the bed.

"Not if we're quick," he whispered back, before he removed her chemise so that the full glory of her pregnancy was revealed to him. He stopped for a moment to take in the sight of his naked, expectant wife. "Please don't ever say you are ugly again," he urged before his lips continued the assault on her flesh.

They did miss the first train but they were in plenty of time for the second train, and when they reached Jonesboro, shortly after ten o'clock, Rhett treated the sleepy children to ice-cream, which delighted Wade as he had expected his mother to insist on adhering to her rule that nothing sweet was eaten until three o'clock in the afternoon, especially as he hadn't had any breakfast. But Scarlett seemed carefree and barely batted one of her long, black eyelashes as Rhett came back with the melting ice-creams. They hired one of the carriages that was waiting outside the station and Wade clambered onto Rhett's knee for the short ride, pretending that he was already riding his pony whilst Scarlett held Ella, laughing at the mess that her daughter was making of her ice-cream and laughing even harder when her ice-cream dribbled onto Scarlett's dress. "Oh well," she said as Rhett reached across to mop up the spill with his handkerchief. "I am probably never going to wear it again anyway after today. It'll be out of fashion by the time I am able to fit into it again."

When they arrived at the fair, they had walked around the fields, Rhett carrying Ella, who had a propensity to scream if any animal came too close to her, and Scarlett holding Wade's hand but after a couple of hours, they gave up.

"The good stock must have gone first thing," Scarlett said, yawning. "We should have got here earlier."

Rhett raised his eyebrows and catching his wife's eye, he leaned in towards her so the children were out of ear shot and said, "The only way we would have arrived here earlier, is if you had been sleeping in a different room to me. You'd have to divorce me before I allowed that to happen," and, although his eyes lingered on her lips, he kissed her on her forehead.

They bought some bread rolls filled with cheese from one of the stands selling food and then made for the fair's exit but when they reached it, there were no carriages. "It'll only take us half an hour to walk to the station," Rhett said and Scarlett nodded, even though she was beginning to fatigue. As they started walking, Scarlett remembered a short cut from her childhood – and it would have been a shorter route if the old bridge, that had made crossing the creek that dissected the fields possible, had not been blown up by Sherman. Feeling slightly nauseous and with the stifling sun having stolen any of her remaining energy, Scarlett pleaded with Rhett to allow them all to rest and eat the rolls and as soon as she had lain on the mossy carpet that bordered the creek, sheltered by some sycamore trees, she fell asleep, with Ella curled up next to her, whilst Rhett attempted to teach his stepson how to skim stones. When she awoke, she found she had migrated to Rhett's arms – or been moved to his arms - and he was gently stroking her head whilst lost in his own thoughts.

Wade had fallen asleep too, using Rhett's legs as a pillow and so they had remained huddled together for another hour, oblivious to the time passing, as Rhett made Scarlett chortle and squirm with his outrageous suggestions of names for their baby. As the sun started to become less intense, Wade opened his large, doelike eyes and stretched his little body to its full length before Rhett picked him up and put him on his shoulders. They started walking back to the station, Scarlett, carrying Ella on her hip, and on boarding the train, both children fell asleep quickly again, whilst Scarlett nestled her head on Rhett's shoulder and closed her own eyes, wondering what it would have been like if Rhett had been the father of all three of her children, and not just the baby that was growing like a parasite inside her. He truly had a gift with children and she was secretly pleased how he had seamlessly integrated into their lives and how the children loved him.

They arrived back in Atlanta at eight o'clock and by some miracle, Pork was waiting for them, ready to shepherd them home. And as they were driven back to their newly built mansion – a house she adored but Rhett made no effort to hide his detestation for – she thought back over the day. They had been gone for almost twelve hours and during that time, there had not been one scratchy word exchanged between any of them. The children hadn't riled Scarlett and neither had her husband. There had been light heartedness, laughter, playfulness and, for the first time, Scarlett had realised how wonderful it was to be able to share the burden of her children with someone. For the first time in her life, she felt she had a true companion, and not just a husband. And she hadn't thought of Ashley once.

That night as she had been lying in Rhett's arms, one of his hands tenderly stroking her swollen belly through her silk nightgown, Scarlett had quietly resolved that they must repeat the experience, but it had never happened. It had been a day of firsts and lasts. Wade never did get a pony, or at least not until after Bonnie had made Mr Butler her own. Scarlett never again made love with her husband – or at least not until the night of Ashley's party some three years later –if that night had been about love. She had felt too awkward about her size and despite Rhett ribbing her about her sensibilities she had decided that it really wasn't ladylike to be partaking in any of the activities of _that _sort whilst she was pregnant. And they never did take another family trip – either before or after Bonnie was born. By her six month of pregnancy, Scarlett, by then larger than she had ever been when she had carried Wade or Ella, had felt too uncomfortable to do anything other than visit the store in the afternoons or Melly and Ashley and she certainly had no energy for any form of travel – even to visit Tara. And then of course any semblance of family life had come crashing down when, in all her confusion over Ashley, she had made her catastrophic error of judgement and banished Rhett from the marital bed, thereby changing the course of all of their lives forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she had given up trying to properly sleep, she sat up in bed, lit a candle by her bedside and started scribbling down notes for Hugh and for herself – Hugh so that he knew what to expect by way of deliveries and orders for the coming fifteen days, and herself so that she remembered what she needed to pack. Then, she got out of bed threw on a wrapper and started rifling through her closet, siphoning off gowns that she thought might be appropriate for Charleston. She chose with care, nothing too fancy, gaudy or risqué, no low necklines, no garish colours. She was going as Rhett's wife of sorts but she would be staying as a guest of Eleanor Butler, and although she had barely spent more than fifteen hours in her company, Scarlett had ascertained that Rhett's mother was a woman of breeding and elegance - just like her own mother.

After a while, she rang the bell for Mammy, but Minnie came instead. "Mammy aint feelin' so good," the young maid said when Scarlett asked where she was.

"Oh?" said Scarlett. "Is she ill?"

"No m'am. She jes tired. She ask me to help you dis morning. She be up later."

If Scarlett had been less preoccupied about the trip to Charleston, she would have probed further, but her mind had already jumped back to Rhett. She removed her wrapper and started climbing into her pale grey travelling dress whilst Minnie's deft fingers quickly did up the buttons. There would be no time to change attire between coming back from the store and Rhett collecting them to take them to the station so she got ready with that in mind.

As Minnie finished helping her mistress dress, Scarlett casually informed her she was going to go away with them to Charleston and asked her to pack the clothes and other garb she had set aside. Minnie's full lips parted widely in the shape of an oval as Scarlett rattled off orders but she didn't say anything and just stared at Scarlett, nodding in synchronisation to each of Scarlett's instructions. "Why are you looking at me like that?" huffed Scarlett after a few moments, when Minnie failed to move her voluptuous figure. "There's work to be done if we're going to be ready to leave on time. I don't want to be responsible for Captain Butler missing his train."

With her skirt hitched high above her ankles, Scarlett ran down the staircase as the grandfather clock chimed six o'clock and the sun finally shed its night time shroud. Pork had already brought the open carriage round for Scarlett and he handed her the reins as she clambered in. She had decided to drive herself to the store – that way, if she finished quickly, she wouldn't have to wait for Pork to collect her.

She jerked the reins, cracked the whip and directed the horse out of the carriageway, relishing the cool air on her cheeks. She felt some bubbles of excitement rise in her stomach and she laughed to herself and then allowed a broad smile to settle on her face as she began her ride through the streets of Atlanta. She didn't fight her reaction or try to pretend to herself that her happiness was anything other than because of Rhett. She was going to be spending two weeks with him, a man who she still loved despite everything they had said and done to each other.

As she turned off Peachtree Street and onto William Street, she passed the Meades' residence and for some reason, perhaps because they were the longest married couple she had ever known, she suddenly remembered Rhett's parting words to her, back on that October night – and at that memory, she became overwhelmed with nerves and self-doubt.

Surely he did give a damn about her, now, despite what he might have said then? But despite her attempts to shake them off, she couldn't quite extinguish her fears that her trip to Charleston would all go horribly wrong, that it was all a joke and that she was like the lamb going willingly to its slaughter. She tried to replay their conversation from last night to allay her concerns. He had definitely wanted her to come to Charleston, but was it because he wanted her there or was it so that he could keep up appearances with his stepchildren, to prove to them that he wasn't the ogre in their marriage, even though he had walked out on all of them? Surely he wasn't leading her on, as some sort of twisted idea of revenge? Something had subtly shifted between them, hadn't it?

She shook her head, clearing her head from such negativity and started re-examining the facts before her and the corners of her mouth started to turn up.

He had definitely not wanted to leave the house last night and she didn't think it was just because it was convenient to walk the few paces up the staircase rather than make his way back to his hotel. He had definitely seemed keen for her to join the children and him in Charleston – why else would he have broached the subject a second time when there was no audience and his eyes had appeared to convey sincerity and honesty? What had been his words? _If that's your best excuse, you're coming. Tomorrow_. Or something like that. It had been a command more than a statement. And when he had laughed at her comment about the sleeping arrangements, his eyes had twinkled wickedly like the old Rhett Butler she had known from the war years, when he had, she now knew, already had matrimonial designs on her. Was he, just possibly, coming round to the idea that there might be something worth salvaging from the ashes of their marriage? Was that what had really lain behind his invitation to Charleston? And then she thought of his lips on her skin, and how they still, made her tingle, even after ten long years. However hard she tried to fight the sensation, she was hopeless at hiding her reaction to the feel of his kisses on her body. He had definitely initiated the intimacy last night and yet he had been gentle, persuasive and maybe even slightly hesitant – it certainly did not have the feverishness of their April couplings.

At the thought of his kisses, she giggled. If she had had perhaps one more glass of wine, she almost certainly would not have been able to resist him. He was still as persistent as he had always been and perhaps…perhaps in Charleston…if she thought she could trust him, if he tried to seduce her again, she might, well just maybe she wouldn't insist on separate rooms…and she blushed at the thought.

As she turned up the wide Seventh Street, a street she rarely rode, she started to think about what they might do in Charleston. She would have to visit her aunts, and no doubt be forced to attend the odd afternoon tea with the matrons of Charleston. She would take the children to swim in the Ashley River (why did the river have to have _that_ name?) and try and learn with them the history of the city. But how would Rhett react to her presence there? How would he treat her? Would she be introduced to any of his old friends? Would she attend any dinner parties with him, or would he keep her safely locked away, away from prying eyes, at his mother's house?

As these thoughts and plans whirled away in her mind, she cast her eyes around the still empty streets. Only the delivery carts and the odd maid, rushing to start her work, appeared to have joined her at this early hour. There was something peaceful about being awake before the rest of the town started the day.

Suddenly, her reverie was broken. There on the opposite side was Rhett, striding purposefully in the direction of the National Hotel, his shirt undone at the top and his jacket slung over his shoulder but more interestingly to Scarlett was the fact that he was wearing the clothes he had been in when she had last seen him, less than ten hours before. What on earth was he still doing awake? Had he not been to sleep? Where had he been for all these hours?

And then she realised what street she was on and what direction Rhett had been coming from. Of course he had been to sleep or at least, he had been to bed. And she knew that he had not slept alone or been in bed alone. He must have gone from her and taken her rebuff to that woman. That vile creature who had plagued their marriage almost as much as Ashley had.

Any feelings of excitement towards the trip to Charleston instantly evaporated and were replaced by a mild feeling of nausea. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought that things had changed between them? Last night for him _had_ just been about satisfying his carnal lusts even though she had made it abundantly clear in April that sharing his bed absent anything else was going to break her. She had thought – or at least hoped – that he had understood that and that his reluctance to leave the house last night hadn't been about wanting to spend the night with any woman. It had been about wanting to spend the night with her. But she was wrong! Blatantly wrong! Oh dear God, _nothing _had changed. He was still the same immoral beast that he had always been. All the talk of mistresses and jails and marriage had just been his way of seducing her so that…God, she hated him! Hated him!

She hit the horse with her stick to pick up the pace. She whipped the horse again and it neighed in pain but she didn't care. She didn't want him to see her and she certainly didn't want to speak to him. She wanted to escape, far, far away from him so that he couldn't hurt her any more. He didn't want her in Charleston, any more than he wanted her back as his wife! Thank God, she had had her eyes opened before she had demeaned herself! How had she been so foolish? Slowly, she realised that tears had started trickling down her cheeks. She tasted them and tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand but however hard she wiped, more appeared. I hate him, she said to herself over and over again and then her body started juddering and she gave up trying to quell the feeling of utter desolation.

When she reached the store, her nettled eyes had stopped streaming. She tied her horse up by one of the lamp posts outside and unlocked the store before opening the shutters. Then, she got to work, clearing some space in the stockroom, ready to accept the Johnson order that was going to be delivered at any moment, all the while refusing to think of Rhett or at least trying not to think of him. But when her mind did wander to her depraved husband, she kept on reminding herself of her hatred for him. It was the only way she could prevent herself from bursting into floods of tears.

At a quarter to seven she heard a key turn in the front door. "Morning, Miss Scarlett," Hugh called out as he entered.

"Good morning," Scarlett replied, "I'm in here."

He ambled into the stock room, but Scarlett didn't look up. She didn't want him to see her tear stung, blood shot eyes or the red rims encasing them.

"The Johnson delivery arrived at the station last night so it should be with us shortly."

"That's good," replied Scarlett. "Hopefully, we can unpack most of it before the store opens." She heard her voice quiver and hoped Hugh was too obtuse to notice.

"Emma's coming in shortly to help so I am sure…" his voice trailed off as he caught a glimpse of Scarlett as she walked over to one of the back shelves.

He cleared his throat, unsure what the protocol was in these situations. "Miss Scarlett, I've…erm… got everything in hand. You don't need to be here. That's why you have staff…"

"I do need to be here…" she mumbled.

He cleared his throat nervously again. "Miss Scarlett, honestly, Emma and I won't let you down. Everything will be fine. We can manage." And then he added as he saw Scarlett's reflection in a mirror. "You…erm…don't quite seem yourself so…"

"I'm fine!" snapped Scarlett before she said more softly. "I just didn't sleep well last night. That's all."

The bell rang and they both looked up in unison out of the window that looked onto the main part of the store. "That's the delivery. At least it's on time," Scarlett said in her business-like manner. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to the front of the store to let the delivery men in. Emma was standing with them.

"Good morning, Emma," said Scarlett quickly as she averted her eyes from Emma's homely face. Emma was perceptive and she would almost certainly detect Scarlett's sorrow if she got a proper look at her.

"Good morning, Miss Scarlett…" Emma responded hesitantly. "Hugh asked me to come early so…"

"Yes, I know," replied Scarlett and she gestured impatiently for Emma to move aside as the delivery men filed in. "To the back please," she shouted at the tallest man, who was leading two others. After a few minutes, peace descended again on Kennedy's and Scarlett locked the front door and went back to the stock room. "I want everything unpacked, and checked for breakages," she ordered as she took the paperwork from the first crate. "I'll be in the office."

When she was in her office, she closed the door and set to work. She scanned the items and the figures on the invoice, and started checking them off against her order. But the words kept on merging together as her eyes blurred. She tried again but it was no use and when she blinked, a big, pregnant tear, dropped onto the paper, smudging the ink. "Damn," she muttered but another fell and then another and so she pushed the papers aside and held her head in her hands. How had she gone from such vertiginous exhilaration a couple of hours ago to this deathly, suffocating pain?

Her head started throbbing and despite closing her eyes and silence cloaking the office, the ache increased. Finally, after several minutes had passed, she got up and opened the door. Hugh was right. He and Emma didn't need her. They could manage everything by themselves.

"I'm going to go home now," she called out through the glass and brick shield. "I think you're right Hugh. I'm not feeling quite myself." She turned and started walking towards the entrance to the store and as she heard the soft footsteps of Emma somewhere behind her, she quickened her stride.

"Miss Scarlett," Emma said.

Scarlett pivoted round, thankful that the lighting in the shop had never been good and the sun wasn't quite high enough to provide proper light. "Yes, Emma?"

"I was just…well…you know that Hugh and I can handle things here for a few days without you and as Captain Butler is in town and he's been away for a while you probably…" Scarlett shot her a dagger look which ambushed Emma's speech.

"I'll be in tomorrow, Emma," Scarlett said and she turned back towards her exit, reached for the door handle, opened it and slammed the door hard behind her.

_Next chapter is definitely the end of Act II. Should be up by end of weekend. It's almost finalised. Thanks for reading and reviewing._

_I think Ondine's owl might have flown into this story too but we have to see how Rhett reacts to the whole change of heart…_

_I am trying to show Scarlett's vulnerability here…her trust in Rhett is very weak…_


	25. Chapter 25

_So this is the final end of Act II. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers – if you are a fan fic author – you know how much a review means. Especially if someone tells you why they liked or didn't like the story. And I don't mind bad reviews either – so long as they are thought out! How else can any of us improve if we are too scared for honest feedback?_

**Chapter 25**

By the time Scarlett returned to Peachtree Street, the house was exhibiting palpable excitement. As she opened the front door, Scarlett saw Ella running towards the kitchen shrieking and laughing with Pansy, her beige dress floating behind her. Scarlett walked towards the staircase and came within earshot of Minnie and Reena gossiping about Minnie's sister and Minnie's forthcoming visit to Charleston, as they worked in the parlour, polishing the silver. She saw Wade's travelling cases, neatly stacked by the hat stand in the hallway, ready to be whisked away by its young master.

Wearily, with her tread reflecting her heavy heart, she walked up the staircase and into the nursery. Ella's half eaten breakfast lay cold on the table, her cutlery splayed on either side of the bowl as though she had dropped them at a moment's notice, but Wade was sitting obediently eating the last remnants of his porridge. He looked up as Scarlett entered, and he brushed a stray, brown curl out of his eyes. He could do with a haircut, Scarlett thought and he was looking more and more like his dead father each day – at least the picture of him in Melly's old daguerreotype that Wade had inherited on his aunt's death. Her own memory of her first husband had long ago vanished.

"We're all packed, Mother," Wade said, draining his tea. "My trunk is downstairs and Ella's…"

"I saw it," she said quietly. She walked over to the window seat, sat down and began to fidget with her wedding ring.

"What time is Uncle Rhett coming again?"

Scarlett turned to her son and looked at his eager, upturned face. What explanation was she going to offer for being the cause of such disappointment? What did he really understand about her relationship with his stepfather? "You know, Wade, I've been thinking…" she started.

"Yes Mother…" he said nervously as though he could sense that she was about to crush his hopes.

"It's just that…" and again her voice trailed off. Life would be so much easier if she only had herself to deal with or just Ella. Ella never asked difficult questions – she asked questions, yes, all the time, but they were of the inane, easy to handle variety. When had raising children become so hard? She sighed and then stared out onto the back yard and caught a glimpse of Ella and Pansy jumping around on the patio playing hopscotch. Ella would have just as much fun in the next fifteen days staying in Atlanta as she would going to Charleston.

When she returned to look at her son, he was watching her closely, his eyes narrowed in expectation. Or maybe it was suspicion. Her son was no fool.

"Wade, I'm sorry darling but I'm afraid, as much as I would love to, I simply can't leave Atlanta and go to Charleston. I…well…you see…something has come up which makes any trip impossible." He continued to stare at her and didn't say anything but she saw his nostrils quiver. "And, you see…" She cleared her throat, in anticipation of the verbal onslaught she would no doubt shortly receive from her eldest child. "I don't think you and Ella can go to Charleston either."

But Wade still didn't say anything. Her edict appeared to have temporarily cut out his tongue and the only reaction he elicited was a trembling of his jaw.

Unsure whether he had fully comprehended what she was saying, Scarlett continued, "I want the three of us to go to Tara next week for a few days." The idea had quickly come to her as she had thought how best to soften the blow. "You can see your cousins and your Aunt Sue and Uncle Will. I know they miss you and Ella! And Uncle Will hasn't got any sons and he wishes that we lived closer so that he could take you fishing and out riding too. Maybe Beau can come…"

"Uncle Rhett hasn't got any sons either," he pronounced steadily. "And neither has he got any daughters." Momentarily, Scarlett felt flustered. Oh, her son was too smart for his own good! Then she thought of her conversation with Rhett last night, where he had claimed Ella as his own, and a conversation that they had had years ago, about his ward. Was that right? Did Rhett have no children? It had been one of those questions that had frequently been on the tip of her tongue to ask him but she had always sensed it was one of the few topics he didn't want to discuss. And she wouldn't have got a truthful answer from him anyway

"Well, I'm…"

"I don't want to go to Tara!" Wade cried petulantly. "I don't want to see my cousins or Aunt Sue or Uncle Will. I want to go to Charleston." He stood up from his chair, a chair that he had outgrown more than a year ago, and walked over to his mother. "Why do you always have to spoil things?" he asked, staring intensely into his mother's emerald eyes. Why can't I go with Uncle Rhett to Charleston? If he says I can go, I'm going to go and you can't stop me…"

Scarlett sat up straight, steeling herself for battle with her increasingly difficult son. "I think I can, Wade. I…"

"Mother! I want to go! I have to go!"

"Darling," said Scarlett, trying to keep cool. "I understand how you might feel but sometimes things…happen…and change…and…"

"You don't know how I feel! If you knew how I felt you would let me go!"

"I do understand how you feel. But I know best in these situations."

"No you don't! That's the problem. If you knew best, you'd decide that we could all go. And you'd come too!"

"Wade…"

"I'm going Mother. I know Uncle Rhett will let me come with him. I'm almost grown up. I can do what I like!"

"That's enough of your cheek, Wade Hampton. I've just about had enough of your disobedience of late. I'm your mother and I'll decide what's best for you. And whilst you're still living under this roof, you'll do as I say. You're not going."

Wade temporarily retreated and in a calmer but still determined voice said, "But Mother, going to Charleston will be the most exciting thing I have done all year! I'm bored of Atlanta…"

"Don't be silly Wade. How can you be bored of Atlanta? There's so much to do here! You have friends, you have Beau, you can swim in the river, you've got your pony. I tell you what, I'll even let you ride Red Hunter next week," Scarlett bribed frantically.

"None of that matters! I want to go to Charleston with Uncle Rhett! He makes everything fun. I've hated him being away. I've hated it! It's been horrid without him. Horrid! I've missed him, Mother, even if you haven't and I want to be with him, even if you don't!" At the sting of his words, Scarlett's temper flared and because her own nerves were so overwrought and she was exhausted, she slapped her son across his cheek.

"Don't you _ever_ say that again!" she shouted. "And don't you ever speak to me like that again." She looked at her son, and suddenly the boy who was struggling so hard to become a man, started crying, wailing like he hadn't done in years. He hadn't even cried this fervently when Melly had died – he had just bitten his lip and turned away and run to his room when she had told him, the morning after the night that Rhett had told her he was leaving her.

His body shook with his sobs and at the sight of his own tears, Scarlett felt her own eyes water again, and then the all too familiar sensation of dripping water on her cheeks. She pulled her son to her and enveloped him in a comforting embrace, suddenly overwhelmed with her own sense of failing as a mother, at her own inability to curb her temper, even if her son had goaded her. "Darling, I'm sorry I got angry," she said as she ran her hand up and down against his back. "It's just…" but she faltered. Wasn't she using Wade and Ella as a cat's-paw in exactly the same manner as Rhett had used Bonnie? Wasn't she better than Rhett?

"I…didn't…mean…" Wade stammered.

"Shhhh…" Scarlett whispered. "I know you didn't. And I know how much you like spending time with your…stepfather."

"Can I really not go?" he asked, breathing in his mother's unique scent. "It doesn't mean I don't love you, Mother."

Scarlett sighed and wiped her own tears in Wade's thick, brown hair. She pulled away from him and, in a gesture reminiscent of Gerald's attempts to level with her, she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Do you really want to go that much?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "I want you to come too though," he replied equally softly.

"I've thought about it darling and it's just not going to work. Maybe another time. But…" she paused as she realised the enormity of what she was about to say and do and felt discomfited. Wade had won. "Alright, darling. You can go. You and your sister can both go. You're right. Seeing another part of America will be good for you. And I know you will have lots of fun with your Uncle Rhett," she added generously.

A faint smile crept onto her son's lips. "Really? I can go?"

"Didn't I just say that? Yes, you can go."

"We can always visit Tara later in the summer, can't we Mother? I mean, I do _want_ to see Uncle Will and Aunt Sue and Susie and Emilia and…"

"That's a good idea. We can go for a few days before your new school year starts."

"Thank you, Mother!" and he impulsively flung his arms around his mother's neck and kissed her. "You are the best!" he said.

"Alright, alright," Scarlett said, trying to disentangle herself from her son's hold. "Now, finish getting dressed please because it's almost nine o'clock and your Uncle Rhett might arrive early."

"I'm going!" he said and he kissed her on her cheek again. "I'll miss you. I wish…"

"Go on," she urged as her eyes glazed over. "Otherwise, you'll make me cry. And grown-ups aren't meant to cry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett was lying on her bed in her room when she heard a gentle commotion downstairs. She looked across at the clock by her bedside. It was eleven o'clock exactly. Rhett must have arrived. She heard faint voices, some quick footsteps and then a girlish squeal that penetrated the velvet walls. She had told Minnie that she had changed her mind and wouldn't be going to Charleston as she had too much to do in Atlanta and then asked her to tell Captain Butler that she was out if he asked for her. Minnie had merely frowned and even though she didn't say anything, Scarlett felt judged.

Scarlett lay still, her ears straining to listen. She heard the front door open and close a couple of times before a hush descended on the house and she was finally able to expel the breath she had been holding in. They had left and she was all alone in the house, save for the faithful Tara triumvirate, Reena and Dilcey and Pork's children. She sat up and looked across at her unpacked trunk, and a couple of hat boxes that Minnie had put aside. Maybe she would go to Tara for a few days after all and perhaps Mammy could go with her too. She didn't really need to stay in Atlanta and it would be lonely without the children.

She got out of her bed and walked over to her vanity. If she wrote to Suellen today, she mused, she could ask her to arrange for Will to meet her at the station on Wednesday. She could spend a week in the countryside, where the air was less humid and the summer heat was more bearable. She sat down and took out her writing paper and started a letter but as soon as she had penned the opening endearment, she heard a gentle knock at the door. She sighed testily, annoyed that her peace had been broken, and walked over to the door. She opened it wide, ready to give a tongue lashing to whichever servant had disturbed her. But it wasn't one of servants that stood before her. It was Rhett, dressed in a grey travelling suit, looking as debonair and swarthy as ever.

"R…Rhett?" she stammered.

"May I come in please?" he asked.

She shrugged and allowed him to pass before closing the door.

He looked at her and then at her cluster of packed belongings and then back at her again. "Scarlett, why aren't you coming?" he questioned calmly.

"I never said I was coming," she replied icily.

"Not in so many words but…" He looked into her green eyes as though he was searching for something. "I had thought that some time away from Atlanta might be good for us…I mean you. I…I thought you had come round to the idea last night."

"No, I…"

"Don't lie to me Scarlett," he scolded gently. "And don't get the servants to lie to me either. I knew you hadn't gone out. And you obviously _were_ going to come as otherwise you wouldn't have gone to the effort of getting your things ready. Or be wearing a travelling dress."

She blushed at being caught out by her own deceit. "This…this isn't a travelling dress," she attempted to deny but she knew her husband had always taken a keen interest in women's apparel.

"Indeed. I'll have to re-educate myself."

"And if you had arrived five minutes later, I would have been out. In fact, I…I...was just on my way out now. I have a mountain of chores to get through..."

He looked across at her vanity, where her pen lay across the almost virgin paper and then down at her stockinged, unshod feet. "Don't compound your lie, Scarlett. I'm no fool." He sighed and then smiled. "Come on, darling, you should come. I'll help you with your bags." He raised his eyebrows cockily at her. "I promise I won't bite."

She felt a dry constriction rise in her throat before she tasted bile. So he thought this was all about nerves! That she was wary of him! The arrogance of this man knew no bounds! And he had the audacity to come upstairs – into her bedroom no less – after he had spent the night with _that_ woman. He had the audacity to call her _darling _and make jokes after it was obvious that, last night, he had only wanted her for one thing! He was as vile as the woman he had spent the night with! Her breathing increased at the same rate as her sense of indignation but despite wanting to hurl a mouthful of insults at him, she turned away and started to move towards the window. She couldn't let him know how she had thought last night had been about something more, that she still cared desperately for him, that she had been willing to take a gamble and accompany him to Charleston.

"Please leave, Rhett. You'll miss the train," she said trying to sound detached and wishing that she had learnt the art of ambivalence that he had perfected so long ago.

"I don't care, Scarlett," he replied. She heard his footsteps behind her.

"Well, _I_ care. The children will be tired enough without additional delay." She knew he was inches from her but she didn't turn round. It was easier to talk to him if she didn't have to face him - she didn't want him to see how betrayed she felt. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her arm and in one fluid move he swung her round to face him.

"Scarlett…" Strangely, his voice was still soft, almost as though he was pleading with her but his hold on her was firm.

"I've got a lot to do Rhett," she said impatiently. "So I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone." She cast her eyes down to his offending grip. "And please take your hands off me."

Instead of unhanding her, his eyebrows curved as lunates. He smirked wryly. "You didn't seem to object to my hands touching you last night…" So he thought it was a game they were playing? That she was his toy?

"Go to hell, Rhett," she said coolly and twisted out of his clutches. "_That_ won't be happening again." Then, as her suppressed feelings of hurt rose to the surface, she said, an inflection of aggression creeping into her voice, "What do you think I am? One of your whores?"

He frowned slightly. "No…I…."

"Well you certainly treat me as one."

"Scarlett, I have never…"

"And you seem to have forgotten that I asked you to leave this house and Atlanta weeks ago!" she said, her voice rising as the thought of his perfidy continued to bubble inside her, like an old wound seeping its poison into her bloodstream. "I don't want you coming back. Ever. And I mean it this time. You're not welcome."

"Scarlett…" he said calmly but his face had hardened.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to start my day. Again." She moved towards the door but he was quicker than her and blocked her exit.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"What the hell has gotten into me? What has gotten into you?" she spat at him. "You waltz back in to my home – which I would like to remind you is not yours anymore – get me drunk, attempt to seduce me and then…and then…" She couldn't quite bring herself to level her full accusation at him. The thought of him going from her to that rouge lipped, dyed hair, scarlet woman was making her stomach turn.

"And then _what_?"

She ignored him. Did she really have to spell it out? "And this vacation with the children! What's the _real_ reason behind it? Why are you taking them? So that you can try and hurt me, like you used to do with Bonnie? So that you can try and turn them against me?"

His ebony eyes flashed with anger. "I have already assured you that…"

"Your assurances are worth nothing, Rhett! You only say what I want to hear!"

"Since when have I done that? I've never told you what you want to hear."

"No? Ha! That's a lie! You have a way of manipulating…"

"When have I ever said something to you just for the sake of it?"

"When have you ever told me the truth?" she countered.

"Good God woman! You are the most infuriating, obstinate…"

"I'm only allowing you to take the children because I don't want to disappoint them," she interjected, refusing to allow her husband to continue his barrage of insults and wanting to turn the conversation back to the subject in hand. "You've provided enough disappointment to last them a lifetime! If it wasn't for that, I would be insisting they stay here with me …"

"Don't play the martyr, Scarlett. They are my children too. I'm their stepfather…"

And then a thought struck her. "Not if I divorced you! You'd have no claim on them then, would you?"

"Dear God Scarlett! What is…"

She wasn't deterred. "If I divorced you, you would have no claim on my children…"

"I've never known anyone so prone to vacillation! You _asked _me to stay in their lives. Now you don't want me to be in their lives. Make up your mind but while you're at it, think of Wade and Ella rather than yourself for once!"

"I am thinking of them and how I don't want such a…depraved influence in their lives…"

Rhett started laughing at her but it didn't reduce the tension between them – it only served to increase it tenfold.

"Shouldn't you have thought about that years ago? So, let me get this straight. You are now threatening to divorce me…just to…erm…spite me?"

"I will if I have to. To prevent you turning my children against me. Like you have turned everyone else I know against me! You have a habit of doing that!"

For a moment, Rhett looked perplexed before he reaffixed his bland mask. "Well, I've never had to try very hard, have I?"

She let out a strangled cry and bit her lip in an attempt to curtail what she really wanted to do to him. She wanted to scratch those horrible, mocking eyes. She wanted to kick him, bite him, hit him. After a few moments, she said. "What was last night about, Rhett? Why do you still want to torment me after all these years? Haven't you done enough damage to me? Can't you give up?"

"Oh, I gave up on you a long time ago Scarlett! It's just that I have never been overly discriminatory as to who shares my bed – so long as they're attractive - and you were the easiest option last night." There! He had finally admitted it. All his subterfuge and pretence had just been a smokescreen!

"I _hate _you! You cad…you…"

"Spare your energy and your words. You've said it all before and I've heard it all before."

"I mean it this time!"

"And you didn't mean it last time…"

"Ohhhhh…you…Just get out!"

"I'm leaving Scarlett and don't worry, I won't be back."

"I don't _want_ you back…"

He smirked. "And that is why you've been moping around Atlanta since April. Trying to prove to everyone that you don't need me. Or my money. I've heard it's been quite an amusing sight. Quite pathetic really…"

"I don't need you…"

"So you've said. But you need my money…"

"No I don't! I have the store…"

"A store that made a loss not so long ago because the ever reliable Mr Elsing couldn't price properly…"

"How do you…" she began, trying to remember whether she had told him the story last night.

"I have pretty reliable informants," he interjected.

Informants? Who was he relying on to tell him what was going on in her life? Who was spying on her? His revelation momentarily confused her. "Well, they obviously didn't tell you that the store is doing very well now, better than it has ever done."

"Oh, they told me that too…." he goaded.

Irritation manifested itself on her brow. "I'm not relying just on the store! I also have the proceeds from the sale of the mills. I made quite a tidy sum…"

"Which was my money…"

"No, it wasn't. I paid you back. I paid you back before we even got married."

He laughed - his chilling, mocking laugh – the laugh that he always emitted just before he revealed his snare. It set her teeth on edge and she wanted to slap him. Hard. "Stop it," she cried. "Stop it."

"The money that Ashley used to pay you for the mills was mine. I lent Miss Melly the money and she died before she was able to repay me even a cent. Not that I mind but that money that you think of as yours is actually mine. Or at least, it came from me."

"What?" Scarlett said, her eyes incredulous, her mouth open wide with astonishment. "You mean…"

"Yes. I _mean_. I mean the money that Ashley received miraculously in the mail was mine. It was Miss Melly's and my little…scheme…to try and keep you two lovebirds apart. Or at least that was my motivation behind it. She was doing it for Beau."

"You mean, you made her lie to me?"

"Oh don't discover your moral compass now, Scarlett, when it no longer matters. Besides the words pot, kettle and black spring to mind."

"What do you…"

"Hadn't you lied to her for years and cheated her out of something that was rightfully hers…"

"And haven't I suffered enough for that? Haven't I paid my dues? I've lost her and…" She stopped short. She had also lost him but she would never tell him that. Never again allude to the fact that she still loved him. Even though at this very point in time she hated him.

"Paid your dues? Not for some people. Anyway, my loan to Miss Melly was a poor investment. I made it too late and now I wish that I had kept well alone. If you still owned the mills, you might have agreed to my request for a divorce. Perhaps the allure of Ashley Wilkes wouldn't have died quite so spectacularly."

"Oh you know that…" Why did he always have to bring up Ashley? "Yes it would have!"

"But anyway, it seems that you will now agree to a divorce, to keep Wade and Ella away from me. How fickle you are!"

"Get out!" Scarlett repeated, the realisation that he might actually go ahead and serve her with divorce papers suddenly rearing its ugly head. She had said it in a moment of madness! She didn't really want a divorce…she just wanted to hurt him. She wanted to take something away from him – her children – that she knew he loved.

"I'm going, darling. And I'll stay away this time." He opened the door. "The children will be back in two weeks," he said and he walked out of her bedroom, and down the staircase and Scarlett stood staring at his back, until she could no longer see him.

_These two need to learn to communicate – that is all I will say. MusicRocks – your comment in Chapter 24 was very astute…I struggled with whether Scarlett could really drive a carriage down a half empty street without Rhett noticing her…but I think I have to pretend (and I am probably stretching the realms of possibility here – but sometimes it is necessary for a story…) that he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts (perhaps Scarlett thoughts, his own excitement about returning to Charleston with his wife and children) to notice her._ _That's what I am sticking to, even though I agree with you!_

_Separately, I have always wondered what Rhett's real motivation was behind lending the money for Ashley to buy Scarlett's half share of the mills out…in his closing speech he said that after the miscarriage, he realised that it was all over between them when Scarlett never called for him when she was ill…but he must have still wanted her or harboured some hope if he lent Melly the money for the mills – he still cared then. I can't believe he did it out of spite – I am sure he hoped that maybe reducing the time Scarlett spent with Ashley might mean she was less obsessed with him (but wasn't her obsession already starting to wane by then?)_

_Please let me know what you think!_


	26. Chapter 26

_Not entirely happy with this chapter – and I think the last third doesn't quite work – but I have decided to post and will probably review it later this week. Let me know what you think._

Chapter 26

During the two weeks that the children were gone, Scarlett flitted around Atlanta keeping herself busy. She spent most mornings at the store, ordering Hugh and Emma about who both held an unspoken wish that she had gone to Charleston, and the afternoons, either attending a sewing circle, visiting Aunt Pitty, checking up on Beau, organising her household or going over her books. Even though she kept occupied, she felt lonely and miserable and she put it down to the fact that the children weren't around to amuse her or even vex her. And she also had to deal with the pressing thought which, however much she tried to shut it out, continued to eat away at her - that Atlanta's gentility perceived her as pining away for an absent husband, when nothing could have been further from the truth. It annoyed her that people might think otherwise.

One afternoon, on her way back from Kennedys, she stopped by Henry Hamilton's offices. She had been mulling over the state of her finances ever since Rhett's bitter revelation about the true source of the money from the mills and, although she had a general idea of what money she held in her own name, and poured over her books each week, she didn't know the accumulative details. Years ago, when her status had first changed from bride to widow, in a matter of six weeks, Uncle Henry had stepped in and taken over the care of her finances, and, despite two further marriages and two husbands who would have willingly taken over its management, she had kept the status quo.

As she walked up the short flight of stairs to knock on the large, imposing door which had housed Uncle Henry's law offices for the last thirty five years, she ran through in her mind what income she currently received. Without fail, every month, Will sent her a small cheque representing her third share in the profits of Tara – even though Scarlett had long ago told him that he should plough her portion back into Tara. She also received a not insubstantial sum from some investments Charles had had before he married her – although since becoming Mrs Kennedy, she had squirreled that money away into a separate account for Wade intending to bequeath it to him on his twenty-fifth birthday. And then of course, there was the money from the store which she had had little cause to use until recently, because Rhett had always paid for everything.

"Uncle Henry, how much money do I have, if we ignore Charlie's money and the money I received from the sale of the mills?" she asked, after pleasantries were exchanged and she had managed to evade his probing questions about her continued presence in Atlanta when her children and husband were in another state.

Henry looked quizzically at her and smiled. He had always admired his niece-in-law, particularly as she didn't like to touch the Hamilton money which she was keeping for Wade – the only boy in the family who would carry on the Hamilton name. "I'll have to get the papers out, Scarlett. But I don't believe it's an insubstantial amount. Almost twenty thousand dollars if my memory hasn't failed me."

He pulled out a pile of documents from one of the tall, worn, oak cabinets that bordered the chaotic office and then rifled through them, writing down figures as he thumbed through the sheets. Finally, he looked up from his desk, adjusted his spectacles and stared straight at Scarlett. "Twenty thousand, one hundred and fifty two dollars."

Scarlett sat back in her chair. Ever since she had vowed not to touch the "lump sum" that Rhett had put aside from her in April, she had quickly become aware of just how expensive running the Peachtree Street mansion and her life was. At her calculation, she needed eight hundred dollars a month for the upkeep of the house and stables, for paying the servants, the school fees and other sundries and ensuring neither her aunt inherited by her first marriage, nor her two blood aunts in Charleston, went without. And that was before she spent any money on clothes and other necessities. The store was doing well at the moment – its profits had crept up to a steady nine hundred dollars a month but she couldn't be sure that the increased revenue would be sustained.

Henry looked at her slumped demeanour and furrowed his brow in confusion. "It's a nice tidy sum, Scarlett. I'm not quite sure…"

"It's fine if everything continues going well but…I only need for something to happen to the store and that money would be wiped out within a year or two."

"Well, you have the money from the mills – that hasn't been touched – and Rhett's…"

"I've already explained, Uncle Henry. I don't want to touch any of his money. And for personal reasons, I don't want to use the mill money either."

The old man guffawed and then starting coughing, before he spoke again. "Scarlett my dear, why on earth not? The mill money is rightfully yours…"

"Is it?" she questioned.

"Of course it is! You worked hard for it…"

"Maybe so but…well, I've decided I can't use it."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Henry dismissively.

"Uncle Henry you don't understand…"

He wrinkled his nose. "What is there to understand, my dear? It's…"

"For the moment I don't need it. Or, at least, I don't want to touch it," she said finally. She stood up from her chair, smoothed her toilette and walked over to the window, which overlooked the busy street. Everyone else seemed to be carrying on with their lives, whilst she remained stagnant, in limbo, her life on hold, waiting for something – though she was no longer quite sure what. In some ways, Rhett's words had been true – she _had_ been sloping around Atlanta in some sort of daze silently hoping that he would have a change of heart and that he would agree to try and fix their marriage – because she knew, that if he only opened his mind to the possibility, she would put in enough effort for both of them to make it work and if... She screwed up her eyes and shook her head quickly, as the memory of his last betrayal washed over her. She had to stop allowing such desires to rule her head – and her life. Their relationship, other than the legal element of it, was definitely over. He could continue "mooning after whores" and she would continue raising her children and protecting their inheritance.

Scarlett turned back to the old man, who sat watching her from his chair – the man who in some ways was the only person whose advice she could trust. He had always had Wade's best interests at heart and therefore, he had had hers too. "I wanted to continue with the redecoration of the house – redecorate the dining room and hallway…perhaps a couple of bedrooms." She cleared her throat, hoping he wouldn't think she was being frivolous. She wanted to purge the blackguard completely from her life and if one of the bedrooms was still nominally his, she would always feel his presence at the Peachtree Street plot.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Well, you can do all of that. You have the money. But I would suggest you use the capital from the sale of the mills, Scarlett, as you did when you refurbished the parlour. Why did you feel you could…use…the mill money then and not now? I don't understand."

"That was then…" she said. Before I knew where the money came from, she added silently. Scarlett clasped her hands and, bringing them up to her face, she rubbed her temples with her fingers. Her wedding ring, sitting forlornly on her finger, in solitude, glistened in the afternoon rays. As the simple gold bland reflected the sun, she thought of her engagement ring which lay tucked away in one of her jewellery boxes, in company with a large mountain of other jewellery. Rhett had bestowed on her over the years, tens and tens of different jewels, encrusted in hair combs, necklaces, earbobs, hair pins and yet, now that she no longer interacted with Mamie Bart and her ilk, and now that Rhett was no longer around to show her a good time, there were scarce opportunities to wear any of them. More often than not, she had taken to wearing either a small diamond pendant and her Grandmother's diamond earrings or her pearls. Her jewels just sat in various ornate boxes, tarnishing and gathering dust.

Scarlett walked back over to Henry's desk and retook her seat. "Uncle Henry, how difficult would it be to sell some jewellery?"

Henry peered over his spectacles and stopped collating the papers that lay haphazardly on his desk.

"Well, I…" He sighed again. "Scarlett, what is this all about?"

Scarlett shrugged. "I'm trying to simplify my life…." She paused as she caught his eye and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Uncle Henry, if I brought in some jewellery, would you be able to sell it for me? I need it to be done discretely. I don't particularly want the whole of Atlanta knowing my business."

"Well, I…I can investigate it for you but really, Scarlett, is this necessary? It's hardly as if you are destitute. And you would be extremely comfortable if you stopped being stubborn and accepted what is owed to you…"

"What is _owed_ to me?" Scarlett smarted.

"Yes," Henry insisted, "What is owed to you." He leaned forward across the walnut desk, across the blotter and his piles of papers. He muttered something under his breath that Scarlett didn't quite catch other than the name of her husband. "Scarlett, whatever has happened between you and Rhett…well, I don't know and I don't want to know…but, neither of you are…or were… without blame. And I think his conduct since October… before then, even…I mean, he hasn't exactly kept true to his marriage vows. And I could never understand it! He had loved you for years and years and then it seemed, as soon as he had you and made you his wife, he changed. Now, I know that you might have had your part in that – I can't ignore _all_ gossip, however much I try to - but over the years he has insulted you, demeaned you and at times was downright cruel to you, even though it was obvious that he loved you. Which I have found most befuddling out of all of this! But maybe that's just because I am an old confirmed bachelor. But you two have conducted the contrariest relationship! I don't want you to think I don't like him, because I do. A lot. But it has caused me no end of frustration to watch you two tear each other apart. Now, my advice to you missy is to take what he is willing to give to you and leave it at that. He _wants _to give this money to you and he _owes_ it to you. Good Lord, he would give you double, triple the money he has set aside, if you needed it. He doesn't want you to go without or to struggle."

"But the point is, Uncle Henry, I don't need it, do I?" Then, as she chewed over his words, she continued quietly "I thought all this money, all of his money, would make me happy. But it hasn't. And I don't want to feel…indebted to him in any way…."

"Scarlett, he's your husband!"

Scarlett bit her lip and thought of a thousand retorts. Her husband in name only, not a real husband. "That might be….but…"

"Scarlett! What on earth has happened? Why won't you use the mill money?"

"Because he lied to me about it!"

"Who did? Ashley?"

"No. Rhett and…Melly…" Henry's stern expression softened at the mention of his beloved niece's name.

"Melly?"

"Yes…but she was encouraged to do so by Rhett! So she didn't really…lie…to me…not really." Scarlett looked at Henry and spurred on by his confused expression, the whole sorry tale came tumbling out. "Rhett lent Ashley the money – at least, I think it was a loan. I think Melly was meant to pay him back. I don't know the details. Rhett didn't want me to have…he wanted me to sell the mills and he knew that the only person I would sell them to would be Ashley…I remember thinking at the time that the story of Ashley receiving the money in the mail was all a bit far-fetched but I…well, I felt backed into a corner and I sold them to Ashley but the money was Rhett's. It was his all along. That's why I don't want to use it. It's tainted."

Henry didn't say anything but instead he picked up his pipe and lit it and then sat silently for a few moments, allowing the smoke to disperse through the air. Scarlett wanted to say something but her uncle's contemplative deportment silenced her. Finally, he put the pipe down and looked intensely at her. "Scarlett, I think you are being utterly foolish. If you want to try and prove that you don't need Rhett's money – or…him…- then, I'm not going to stop you. But however you look at it, that mill money is yours. And you should use it. Regardless of where the money originated from. It wasn't gifted to you, it was gifted to Ashley…or Melanie…I have never seen a woman work so hard for their livelihood as you did. I know everyone said that you had unsexed yourself when you took over the store and then bought the mills but…well…erm…I always thought that was unfair. Did anyone make the same accusations when Mrs Merriwether started her bakery? No, of course they didn't. You built the mills up to what they were through hard graft, grit and determination and when you sold them, the proceeds absolutely and _rightfully_ belonged to you. Please don't let your obstinacy or any…er… perceived slight…by Rhett or even Melanie prevent you from enjoying the fruits of your labour. Now, I'll help you sell some jewellery – if you really want to – as long as you promise me that you will stop this…misguided attempt…to snub your husband…when there is no need. Although for the life of me, I can't quite understand what the difference is between you selling your jewellery – most of which came from Rhett – in order to fund your lifestyle and you using the money from the sale of the mills – even if it did emanate from Rhett."

But there is a difference, she thought. The jewellery was bought with love, the money from the mills originated from spite, hate even. Suddenly, Scarlett felt tired. Tired that she was still engaged in a battle with her husband, even though he was hundreds of miles away. Tired that he had permeated and soiled every part of her adult life. Tired of feeling that she had to account for her actions, even though she was a grown woman, almost in middle-age.

"Alright, Uncle Henry," she said, wearily. "I'll think about what you have said. Well, I've taken up more than my share of your time." She reached down for her reticule that she had placed on the floor and picked it up. "Will you come over for lunch this Sunday when Wade and Ella are back? I know they would love to see you."

"I'd love to," he said. They stood up together and Henry walked across the room to open the door. As she walked towards him, she felt an impulsive desire to kiss his whiskery, wrinkled face.

"Goodbye Uncle Henry and thank you," she said as her lips brushed his cheek. He was the closest thing she had these days to a parent.

"Now, now…there is nothing to thank me for. I just wish your father was around to talk some sense into you." He paused for a moment, as if he was weighing up whether he should say something else. His lips twitched and then finally, he added, "And, my dear, if I can offer you one last piece of advice…the next time your husband invites you to spend some time with him, especially away from this city, I suggest you swallow your pride, and go." Scarlett had already walked out of the door before he finished his sentence and as his words registered in her head, as she realised that she had not mentioned to anyone other than Minnie about her trip to Charleston, she turned to ask Henry how on earth he knew that Rhett had asked her to go with him and the children. But she was too slow. The door slammed shut and she was left with her mouth hanging open, poised to question. The crafty devil, she thought. He had been too quick for her to respond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the second Tuesday of the children's absence, Maybelle stopped by the store, allegedly to purchase some plates but Scarlett had a sneaky suspicion that it was also to check up on her. It appeared to be common knowledge amongst Atlanta citizens that her children had gone away for a while. How quickly gossip spread! she rued.

"How lovely to see you Maybelle," greeted Scarlett genuinely, as Maybelle, swathed in copious folds of fabric and shawls to try to conceal her pregnancy, waddled in.

"I wasn't sure if you would be here but I needed some…new plates…" she stammered. "So I thought I would come to Kennedy's. I hoped you would be here!"

"When am I ever not here?" asked Scarlett, smiling.

"Well, you always seem to be busy, my dear, doing this and that, running your errands, visiting your Aunt Pitty, checking up on Beau. Besides, I wasn't sure if you had gone to…you know…Charleston."

"Charleston? Why would I go there?" Scarlett asked defensively.

Maybelle blushed before she stammered, "Wade…and Ella are there, aren't they, and so I thought…"

"You thought wrong. Rhett took them. I couldn't go. I can't just up and leave, unlike my husband who seems to sail through life without any care for planning. I have responsibilities," Scarlett said impatiently, her eyes snapping with irritation. Didn't the women of Atlanta know that the store was her livelihood?

"Yes…I know…but I…" Maybelle averted her eyes away from Scarlett's penetrating gaze. Why did she have to justify everything? Scarlett thought. No one else in Atlanta had to deal with the same level of scrutiny as she did.

"Let me show you where the plates are," Scarlett said, adopting her efficient, no nonsense tone. "We have some on sale and if you can't find what you are looking for, let me know and I will see if we have anything different in the stock room."

"Thank you, Scarlett," Maybelle said as she was led down one side of the store to where the crockery was stacked.

Scarlett stood aside as Maybelle crouched down to look at the merchandise on the bottom shelves. She felt slightly sheepish. She hadn't meant to be short with Maybelle and even she could see that it looked odd that Rhett had taken the children without her accompanying them. But she didn't like to be reminded of her current predicament and she was beginning to tire of the constant level of curiosity that seemed to whirl around her wherever she went. There were times, like the last couple of weeks, when she wished she was safely back at Tara. There, she was no less anonymous, but folk allowed you to get on with your daily life, and if they did gossip about you and your quirks, they did so with affection and at the thought of that, a full cast of characters ran through her head - Grandma Fontaine, Mrs Tarleton, her old friend Cathleen Calvert, even her brother-in-law, Will.

"Maybelle," Scarlett said softly, interrupting Maybelle's private ruminations. She couldn't quite shake the guilt she felt from being short with Maybelle. She needed Maybelle almost as much as she had needed Melly. Rightly or wrongly, she felt Maybelle was her anchor towards her acceptance back in with the Old Guard - and as she had got older and gone through her triad of tragic events, whilst she could perfectly well make do without any friends, she was realising that life was…well, it was easier if you had some allies. "Maybelle," Scarlett repeated, unsure if she had been heard the first time. "I was wondering if you would like to come to dinner on Wednesday. With René of course."

Maybelle looked up, her sweet face, anxious. "That would be lovely, Scarlett but…well, you see…erm…Jack's due back in town tonight and…"

"Well, of course, he's invited to," Scarlett interrupted before Maybelle could complete her sentence. "It will be nice to have some company. The more the merrier. It's been very quiet without the children."

Maybelle cleared her throat. "And…well…there's another problem. It's Fanny's birthday and I had thought that I…" For a moment, Scarlett shuddered at the mention of Fanny's name. She would always feel responsible for the fact that Fanny was widowed and her son, born just before the shanty town raids, was fatherless.

"Fanny should come too," Scarlett quickly offered. "I'll get Dilcey to bake a birthday cake and I'll see if there is any champagne left. I'm sure I've got a few bottles tucked away in the cellar. I don't think Rhett donated all of it to the ball."

"Well, Scarlett…if you are sure…but equally, you could just come over to our place instead…"

"No. It's my turn to have you over for supper," Scarlett said firmly. "I've accepted too many invitations from you recently, without reciprocating."

"Well, if you really don't mind, that would be lovely."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, three days before her children were due back from their vacation, Scarlett found herself holding a small supper party. She had never before entertained people on her own in the evening – she had always had Rhett by her side, or briefly, before that, Frank or, when she was Mrs Hamilton, Melanie and Pitty - but she figured it wouldn't be too different from hosting a whist afternoon – and she had held plenty of those in her time.

Her guests arrived together - the Picards had piled in to René's old wagon and had collected Fanny from her parents' house on the short journey to the Butler abode. Mammy ushered them into the parlour where Scarlett greeted them warmly.

"Maybelle!" Scarlett exclaimed as she kissed her friend, hoping that she couldn't read how ridiculous she thought Maybelle looked in the ill-fitting gown she was wearing, which strained at the seams and on which buttons had been crudely moved to accommodate her changing shape.

As Maybelle took a glass of cordial that Pork offered her, Scarlett turned to Fanny, awkwardly kissing her on the cheek. They had never really been friends and neither was Scarlett entirely sure what Fanny thought of her, even though they had been sewing together for the last six months. When Scarlett had first met her, as a young widow of seventeen, she had quickly dismissed Fanny as plain and boring and she was certainly no threat to Scarlett's status as the most striking woman in Atlanta. She wasn't particularly pretty – her face was too pinched and her eyes just slightly too close together – and over the years, Scarlett had privately cringed at some of the dresses she had worn, always several seasons out of date. But now, looking at her with fresh eyes, her face fuller from the little extra weight she now carried, she had turned into quite a handsome lady. She had fixed her hair in a loose chignon – not in the severe style she usually wore – and as Scarlett studied her, she thought that she could detect a hint of rouge reddening her cheeks. And for once she was not wearing the drab colours she usually dressed in but a pale green dress – a colour that Scarlett had long ago claimed as her own.

As she fussed around her guests, she inadvertently brushed past Jack's back. Seemingly alert to her presence, he diverted his attentions away from the small group, huddled by the drinks cabinet, to Scarlett, who had dressed in a simple and modest pale grey silk gown, her hair loosely piled on her head. He looked at her and smiled and Scarlett felt herself blush and then, she felt herself blush again as she remembered the last time he had crossed the threshold of the mansion, when he had carried a sleeping Ella upstairs and placed her on her bed. For such a casual friendship that existed between them, that act, considered now when she was not fatigued, seemed altogether too intimate. No wonder Mammy had come trotting into Ella's bedroom as soon as she heard the commotion of their arrival, huffing and muttering and casting disapproving looks in Scarlett's direction at the sight of Jack Picard not just in the house unchaperoned but upstairs, in the sleeping quarters.

After a while, the small group moved to the chairs that overlooked the front lawn and even though she deliberately took the chair that placed her between Fanny and Maybelle, she felt Jack's eyes on her and when she dared to cast a glance in his direction, more often than not, she would catch him looking at her. When she caught his eye a third time, he didn't even attempt to avert his stare but instead smiled broadly at her and she couldn't help but smile back. There was something comforting about Jack – at times he reminded her of the old Rhett – before their marriage and Bonnie's death ruined him – and he didn't seem unduly phased by protocol and didn't seem to adhere too strictly to society's rules - although he stuck to them enough so as not to cause unnecessary alarm or chagrin amongst the Old Guard.

"I like what you've done to this room, Scarlett," Fanny said, breaking Scarlett's thoughts. Fanny took a sip of lime cordial before she continued. "It's very…different…from how it looked before." Fanny had only been inside the Butler residence once, when she had come to pay her condolences at Bonnie's wake.

"Thank you," Scarlett replied. "Maybelle helped me choose the drapes and I had help with getting decent workmen to paint and redecorate the room." She deliberately omitted mention of Jack's role in the refurbishment. "I want to make over the dining room next. I had wanted to do it whilst Ella and Wade were away but time has rather run away with me. I've chosen new curtain fabric though."

"Ah yes. Wade and Ella. Where are they, again? I think you did tell me but I can't recall."

Scarlett bristled, fully aware that she had done no such thing. She hadn't spoken to Fanny in weeks, other than by way of a quick greeting when they met up at their sewing circles. "They're in Charleston," Scarlett said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"With Captain Butler," volunteered Maybelle. Scarlett scowled at an unseeing Maybelle. Why had she had to add that piece of information? Scarlett thought in annoyance

"But without you?" enquired Fanny. Scarlett's stomach turned at the implicit insinuation. She had wanted to avoid this topic of conversation and now the whole sorry state of her family life was about to be picked over.

"Yes. I couldn't go…"

"He rather sprung the trip on you all, didn't he, my dear?" said Maybelle and she looked at Scarlett and flashed her a winsome smile.

"Yes…he…well, I couldn't just up and leave. I had too much to sort out in Atlanta."

"Where does he live in Charleston?" Fanny asked. "I've been a couple of times. Ma's brother lives there."

"Captain Butler doesn't live in Charleston, Fanny," reprimanded Maybelle. "He's just _staying_ with his mother. On the Battery."

"That's right. On…the…Battery," said Scarlett slowly. She looked at Maybelle curiously, trying to determine how she had known that. Had she mentioned it to Maybelle? She couldn't recall but, as she had tried her best over the last few months to shun all mention of his name so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the fact that he had left her, it seemed unlikely.

"When are the children back?" Fanny persisted. Scarlett glanced at her guest. Was she deliberately being provocative by continuing a conversation that Scarlett evidently didn't want to take part in or was she just obtuse?

"At the weekend," Maybelle quickly interjected.

Scarlett looked at her friend again, bemused. How had she known that? But just as she was about to ask, Pork returned to the parlour and whispered to Scarlett that the meal was ready.

"Supper is now being served," she said as stood up, smoothing imagined wrinkles from her skirt, and led them through into the dining room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the rest of the evening, Fanny barely said a word to Scarlett and Scarlett herself was unnaturally withdrawn. She had thought that having company might shake her from her low mood but it only seemed to heighten it. Even though he had been out of her life for over eight months – more if she counted the months following Bonnie's death when he had informally absconded from her life – she missed her husband tonight, in some ways, more than ever before.

As the conversation turned to the Meades' forthcoming ruby wedding anniversary party, a party that Scarlett had yet to receive an invitation to, Scarlett suddenly felt awkward. Her own conversation was guarded, stilted even, and she had none of the light, amusing stories that Rhett always plucked from his repertoire and which would have everyone engrossed and laughing into the late hours of the evening. What did she really have to talk about other than her store? She couldn't talk about her children as it might bring the conversation back round to Charleston and she had no appetite for gossiping about Atlanta's families.

Previously, her parties and crushes had always been fun and been talked about for a long time afterwards. Alcohol had flowed freely and she had taken delight in listening to the hushed whispers of the latest scandals. But that was when life was frivolous and she could afford to be vacuous. That was before her best friend died and her husband left her. That was before Bonnie died. That was before nothing seemed to matter except having a good time, wearing pretty dresses and trying to persuade Rhett that he should allow her to cut bangs into her hair. But talking of the latest fashions, hairstyles and rumoured affairs had no place at this table and the more obvious topics of conversation might lead to well-meaning but embarrassing questions that she had no desire to answer. Life had got altogether too serious but she had to remember that this is what it would be like, going forward. There would be no more jointly hosted parties. She was a single woman now and she would have to get used to it.

As Scarlett sipped on her third glass of wine, she attempted to join in a conversation about the bakery and the latest drama surrounding Mrs Merriwether's staffing issues, but after a while, she gave up properly listening and just sat smiling at the top of the table, trying to look engaged but secretly wishing that she was curled up on her bed with a glass of brandy, reviewing the books that Ashley had dropped by earlier in the day.

After supper, the guests retired to the parlour again and Scarlett brought out the birthday cake and flutes of champagne before the small gathering raised a toast to a blushing and flushed Fanny. Jack then sat at the piano and started playing a couple of good natured ditties, feminising the popular song, "For he's a jolly good fellow". With the enforced merriment and the wine and champagne rushing through her veins, Scarlett started to relax. She forgot about her worries and her feelings of uncertainty and instead focussed on the evening in hand. Life could be fun or at least bearable – even if she was going to be on her own. She did have some real friends, she had a family in Uncle Henry and Aunt Pitty and to a lesser extent Ashley and Beau, she had her children and she had a reasonable amount of financial security. Yes, life wasn't so bad after all, she thought as René suddenly grabbed her hand and twirled her around in time to the piano chords.

As the clock struck midnight the spell was broken. Not entirely understanding where the hours had gone, the guests quickly scurried out to the wagon that Pork had pulled round, sated with alcohol and food. Scarlett stood at the front door, waving goodbye to them and smiling as she saw Fanny sway slightly unsteadily on her feet, clutching Jack's arm. It was only as she closed the door and saw a shawl that Maybelle had brought – which had slipped off the hat stand and had lain hidden behind a large vase - that she suddenly remembered the comments that Maybelle had made earlier in the evening. How did Maybelle seem to know so much about her current predicament with Rhett? She hadn't learnt such details from her, had she? As she mulled over the possibilities, she went into the parlour and turned down the gas light. Then, she took one of the candelabras that still held a couple of lit candles and started up the stairs. Her feet hurt from her slippers and her head began to ache and she wanted to go to bed and fall into a deep sleep. There was no need to think about Maybelle tonight. She would think about it all tomorrow.

_Hmmm – initially, I had wanted to make Belle the informant but then of course I realised that she is illiterate so that would be no good and so it had to be Maybelle. And I have always liked Henry Hamilton. He is probably one of the few people whose opinion Scarlett respects._

_Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. It helps!_


	27. Chapter 27

_Sorry for the major delay – quite a bit of writer's block and I also had to deal with a broken computer and sporadic internet. And of course Real Life._

_Thank you to all of you for your reviews and for your nudges – honesty, nudges do spur me on to do the next chapter (thank you Ondine for your simple command – "Write!"). A special thanks to LawdyMissScarlett for correcting me about Fanny who has actually got a child (I have to go back and correct the previous chapter) and also for the now (almost and sort of sadly demised) Dixie and Nostalgia for their honest criticism. And also thank you for some of you who have also read One Night and suggested that perhaps this story had got a bit bloated (that was my fear too and I think you are right – I tried to reduce the waffle in this chapter). Thank you also to Alison for her honest and fulsome reviews and also for allowing me to bounce my ideas of her…and Alison – I would love it if you contributed to this fandom, especially as there is a real dearth of updates/new stories. And also for the lovely and darling Julia and Guardian Spirit who have been with me for ages (there aren't too many chapters left – maybe another 7 or 8 – although I have been saying that for a while…)_

Chapter 27

On the Saturday that the children were expected home, Scarlett received a telegram from Rhett informing her that Ella had come down with a mild dose of chicken pox and as a result, the children would be staying in Charleston for another week. As a postscript, he added that his mother was looking after her and that there was no need for Scarlett to worry.

Scarlett sighed as she put the telegram on her breakfast tray. Another week without the children! Another week on her own in her charnel house without them to distract her! She would never have anticipated that she would miss the children and their general melee as much as she was doing (although she didn't miss Ella's screeching or Wade's increasing impudence) and she silently resolved that this would be the last time that she would allow them to spend two weeks away from her until they were married – or at least until Wade went to college. It was as though a blanket of eeriness had descended over the house and the only rooms she could escape it were her bedroom, the parlour and the kitchen. Not for the first time in the last few months was she struck by the increasingly painful realisation that a home was not a roof over one's head but where the heart of the family was and in her Peachtree Street mansion, she only had Dilcey, Pork and Mammy as family.

She took the telegram again, unfolded it and re-read its contents and then briefly worried whether she should be concerned about Ella's illness before dismissing the notion. Chicken-pox was a rite of childhood – and Wade had barely manifested any symptoms when he had come down with them after she had first married Frank. Besides, Ella had Minnie – thank goodness she had insisted that she accompany the children! – and also, it seemed, Rhett's mother. What purpose would it serve if she rushed off to Charleston, other than to be a vulnerable board for her husband's barbs and spiteful actions to ricochet off? _And_ she would have to deal with not just him but the critical gaze of his mother. His mother who knew the truth about their marriage, at least in part, if not in its entirety. His mother who adored her oldest son, despite his rapscallion tendencies and obvious faults.

She had only ever met Mrs Butler once – in the aftermath of Bonnie's death, when the older woman had come up to stay with them for a few days. She had spent most of her stay, ordering the servants about and trying to break down the barricades that Rhett had surrounded himself with – both physically and emotionally. She had barely spoken a word to Scarlett, barely spent more than a handful of hours in her company and they had not spent any time alone together. Her focus was on her beloved son who was tipping towards insanity, not her distraught, tearful daughter-in-law who was seemingly coping a hundred times better than the supposed man of the house. Her daughter-in-law who was managing to face the well-wishers and do-gooders with an element of grace, even though inside she was crumbling.

But Scarlett hadn't cared that Mrs Butler's attentions had been directed almost solely towards her husband. She hadn't cared that this was the first time she had ever met Rhett's mother – she didn't notice, nor would she have cared, that, once the faceless strangers had left the house after paying their respects, she exhibited not one ounce of the charm that, once upon a time, she had been renowned for. She just wanted someone to take her pain away – and the only momentary relief she got was cursing her husband with such venom that even Mammy had shaken her head in disbelief. It was only afterwards, weeks later, when the sharp, murderous pain had finally morphed into a constant, but dull ache, did she rue her actions though she knew that if she had had to go through it all again, she would have behaved the same way. The pain had swallowed her and she had been fighting to survive.

As Scarlett thought of Ella and her chicken pox and the fact that it was Rhett's mother who was nursing her she started wondering if his mother had been instrumental in encouraging Rhett to leave the marital home. Had she been the one to counsel him that their marriage was dead and urged him to break it? She had certainly sent a plethora of letters to him – identifiable by her spidery handwriting – in the weeks immediately following Bonnie's death and ending the week of Rhett's departure - although Scarlett had had no idea what they had contained. But there had never been a letter for Scarlett offering her condolences – it was as though Eleanor Butler didn't care. Even if she blamed Rhett's misery on her daughter-in-law – wouldn't it have been the proper thing to communicate with the mother of her dead grandchild on occasion?

In all their six years of marriage and even before, Rhett had barely spoken about his mother. In fact, if she thought about it, Rhett had barely spoken about any of his family or his past. His personal history was as enigmatic as she now knew he had been. Why hadn't Mrs Butler ever visited them in Atlanta? Hadn't she been curious to meet her daughter-in-law or at least her granddaughter? Wouldn't it have been the most natural thing in the world to have stayed with her son for a few days from time to time in order to meet and get to know his new family? And why was she suddenly taking an interest now in Scarlett's children, when it was all too late, when it no longer mattered, when their unfixable marriage lay in tatters?

Scarlett sighed and decided that Mrs Butler was as mysterious and guarded as her son was, before she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got out of bed. She rang the bell for Mammy to help her bathe and dress and as she waited for Mammy she scribbled a short note to Uncle Henry to tell him of the change in circumstances – that Ella and Wade would not be coming back from Charleston for another week - but insisting that he should still come over for Sunday dinner - and then, with the pen still in her hand, she wrote impulsively to Ashley and India, inviting them over too. It would be easier to avoid Uncle Henry's discerning questions with other people present and in any event, she had bought in so much food, in anticipation of the children returning, that would go to waste if it was only Uncle Henry and herself for dinner.

When she had dressed and dispatched Reena with the notes, she drove herself to the store. With the prospect of another long week ahead, she had decided to look over her books and take some papers home with her. The house might have been gloomy but it was cooler there than in her office at the store and there would be less distractions. And she could avoid the quizzical stares of her patrons who, once again, seemed to be sniffing around for more gossip about her and her marriage. Dear God, she thought, frustrated, just as the flurry of talk about her had died down, it was fanned again by some new event. It seemed that interest in her would never wane and she would never be able to live in the peace that she increasingly desired.

She collected her books and papers and instructed Hugh, Emma and Mary to place the appropriate new orders and re-arrange stale displays. Then she quietly took Emma aside and invited her for lunch on Sunday. Emma was family – at least part of Wade's family - and she liked Emma, although that wasn't hard. _Everyone _liked Emma, in the same way that everyone had liked Melly, and although she knew it was far too soon and she knew no one would ever match up to the matchless Melly, ever since she had observed their interaction at the picnic, at the back of her mind was the idea that Emma might make a good wife for Ashley. There was no harm in helping that idea along – even though she wasn't entirely sure that Ashley would ever marry again. But if he did, she now realised it would be someone like Emma and not someone like her.

It was approaching midday by the time she left Kennedy's, and despite the blazing June heat and the fact that it was nearly the dining hour, as she slipped the reins over her hands she decided to drive to Pleasant Street and go to the Picards' house. She had Maybelle's shawl with her but returning it wasn't the real reason for her visit. No, what she really wanted to do was talk to Maybelle about the remarks she had made on Wednesday, when she had appeared to know far too much about her personal circumstances. And Rhett's.

When she reached the Picards' residence, she tied her horse to one of the tall oak trees that bordered the narrow street and walked up the cracked steps leading to the little, paint deprived house. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to say but she knew that she needed to say something. Or ask _some _questions. She knocked on the door and waited under the small porch, trying to shield herself from the intensity of the sun's rays.

She stood waiting, straining her ear for some indication that she had been heard, and then began to wonder if she had misunderstood Maybelle's comments. Perhaps there was nothing untoward in what she had said but a doubt still niggled within her. How had Maybelle known so much about the Charleston trip when Scarlett had barely spoken to anyone about it, least of all Maybelle? As much as she was growing fond of Maybelle, Scarlett could never quite forget whose daughter she was – one of the fiercest battleaxes and most famous gossipmongers in the whole of Georgia, let alone Atlanta.

She knocked on the door again and when there still appeared to be no life in the house, she turned, her arms clammy from clutching the woollen shawl. But just as she started walking back down the path, she heard the door unlock and then open. "Scarlett?" she heard Maybelle call out. Scarlett turned to see Maybelle in a loose cream cotton dress, her protruding stomach in full show.

"Maybelle," greeted Scarlett. She retreated back up the path towards the front door. "I was just passing and suddenly remembered I had your shawl with me," Scarlett lied, "So I thought I would see if you were at home so I could return it to you." Maybelle looked slightly puzzled. "You left it on Wednesday evening," Scarlett reminded.

"Oh, yes of course," she said, nodding her head. "Thank you my dear. I'm obviously getting forgetful in my current condition!" Scarlett handed her the shawl and then stood on the doorstep, hoping that Maybelle would invite her into her house. But no invitation was forthcoming.

"Well, I…" Maybelle began after the pregnant pause became rather uncomfortable. She made a move as though to close the door.

"Maybelle, dearest," Scarlett drawled, as though she were dealing with a beau. "Would you be an angel and let me sit down for a while with a glass of water? I'm not quite sure what's wrong with me but I suddenly feel a bit faint."

"Yes, yes of course," Maybelle replied, gesturing her inside her house. "How remiss of me not to ask you to come in for a refreshment! Perhaps you might want to stay for something to eat. I was about to start making myself dinner. Would you like some chicken broth that Serena prepared earlier this morning?"

"Oh no. That's awfully kind but I suspect Dilcey already has something ready for me at home and I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"It would be no trouble. I'm alone and…"

"Thank you Maybelle, but honestly, dinner won't be necessary."

"Well, if you are sure…." She hesitated and shifted uneasily under Scarlett's gaze. Then she continued. "I was actually just taking a short nap when you knocked and had no idea where the time had gone. I can't believe it's nearly time for dinner! The children are out today with Jack and René and I wanted to catch up with some errands…and some sleep," she said, effecting a little giggle. She took a hanky out of a small pocket in her dress to mop her brow and then opened the door wider to allow Scarlett to pass. Scarlett did so and walked in to the small parlour and took a seat, while Maybelle padded to the kitchen and fetched a pitcher of iced water.

It was almost as stifling in the parlour as it was outside – the ceilings were low and it felt airless, despite opened windows at the back. Scarlett felt herself getting hotter and hotter and was beginning to regret coming round. In a minute, she really would faint! But she had to ask Maybelle those questions and so, after she had taken a few sips from the cold glass that Maybelle had given her, she asked where the children had gone as a way of breaking the ice. The difficult questions could follow once the awkwardness had fallen away.

"Oh, they've only gone to the river. With Fanny's little boy, Tommy."

"Tommy?"

"Yes. Actually, it was Jack that insisted he go with them. He's taken quite a shine to Tommy. And I think he feels sorry that Tommy has never known his father." Scarlett shot Maybelle a look, wondering if her comment was a veiled swipe at her. But there was no malice present on Maybelle's face, merely a sweet smile. It was as if she hadn't remembered Scarlett's connection to Tommy's father's death. Perhaps she hadn't.

"Oh I see," said Scarlett and for a reason that she didn't quite understand, she felt a pang of jealousy.

"Aren't Wade and Ella meant to be returning today? Or is it tomorrow? I can't remember what you told me."

"They were meant to be coming back today but Ella's come down with chicken pox. I got a wire today saying that they would be spending an extra week in Charleston."

"Oh the poor thing. Is she going to be alright?"

What a silly question, Scarlett thought irritably but she forced a smile. "It's only chicken-pox Maybelle. And Rhett's mother is looking after her. She'll be fine. Naturally, I would go to Charleston if I thought Ella was seriously ill."

"Of course you would, my dear. I didn't mean to suggest that…you're right, it is only chicken-pox. When Raoul had it, it barely affected him."

"Exactly. It was the same with Wade. It's just a childhood rite of passage."

"Yes, a childhood rite of passage," Maybelle repeated and flashed a smile at her friend. "Well…I'm pleased she's in good hands. She seems a very capable lady. Mrs Butler that is. At least that was the impression I got when she…when I met her at…well, last August." Scarlett looked at Maybelle. She didn't need to be told when Maybelle had met the elder Mrs Butler, even though Scarlett had no recollection of it.

Scarlett allowed her eyes to wander around Maybelle's parlour as she tried to gather her thoughts. And her courage. It was time to ask those awkward questions and if she didn't ask them now, she would lose her nerve and the moment would pass. She _had_ to know. She had a right to hear some answers.

"Maybelle," Scarlett started. "When you were over for supper on Wednesday, well…" Scarlett paused again. There was no way to say what she wanted to say other than directly. She breathed in deeply. "How did you know how long the children were going to be in Charleston?"

Maybelle looked at her and a slight colour began to rise on her cheeks. "Didn't you mention…it to me?" she stuttered. "I feel…erm…sure that you did…"

But Scarlett knew she hadn't. She had wanted the whole Charleston vacation to slide past, unnoticed. If it had been possible, she would have liked to have pretended that the children hadn't even left Atlanta. And if Rhett hadn't paraded through the Atlanta streets clutching Ella's hand, his temporary re-emergence wouldn't have even registered on people's consciousness let alone been catapulted to the forefront of everyone's mind.

Scarlett raised her eyebrows wryly. Maybelle was as bad a liar as she knew she was. "And how did you know that Rhett's mother lived on the Battery?" Maybelle blushed at the underlying accusation in Scarlett's tone. She started wringing her hands together and then clasped them between her knees.

"Well…I…I mean…hadn't you mentioned that to me once? I'm pretty sure…"

"No. I didn't," Scarlett said slowly, focussing her eyes on Maybelle. "I barely know Mrs Butler. She might be my mother-in-law, but the only time I have ever spent any time with her was after Bonnie died. And I have certainly never discussed Rhett's family with anyone. I don't have a habit of talking about people I don't know. So…how did you know where Mrs Butler lived?" Maybelle blushed an even deeper reddish hue.

"I…I…can't recall. Perhaps…perhaps Captain Butler told me." And with that suggestion, Scarlett suddenly realised the truth. Rhett _had _told her and it had been deliberate. Maybelle was one of Rhett's – what had he called them? - _Informants._ She was the person who was spying on her, keeping him enlightened with how she was spending her time, what she was doing. She was the person who had told him about the redecoration of the parlour. What else had she told him? Had she told him about the picnic? The store? Hugh Elsing and the pricing debacle? And what was she telling him about Jack, who just _conveniently_ happened to be René's cousin?

Scarlett looked at Maybelle directly. As the truth dawned on her, she could feel her ire increasing. Maybelle, who she had thought was her friend, had betrayed her. All the goodwill she had shown towards Scarlett was a smokescreen so that she could spy on her and report back. Had this been a plan of Rhett's, so that he could somehow accuse her of some scandalous behaviour and get what evidence he needed for a divorce? Was that why Maybelle had invited Jack along to practically every social occasion they had attended together, in order to tempt Scarlett, knowing that Scarlett's mood was so low? Was Jack in on the whole ruse too?

"Rhett did tell you, didn't he?" Scarlett said, her cool tone belying the rage that was boiling inside her.

"I…I…don't recall. Really my dear, does it matter? Maybe I imagined it or maybe Mrs Butler told me herself when she was in Atlanta last August…"

Scarlett shook her head. "It wasn't some _social engagement_ last summer, Maybelle, where everyone milled around, exchanging inane pleasantries," Scarlett said acidly. "It was my daughter's _funeral_. Mrs Butler barely spoke to anyone. She barely even spoke to me."

"I know, Scarlett. But…" her voice trailed off and as Scarlett looked at her, she was suddenly reminded of Melly and the look Melly had worn the night Scarlett had sold the mills to Ashley. As she remembered back to that night, less than two years ago, she realised that it was guilt that made Melly shift uncomfortably in her chair and guilt that made Melly unable to look her properly in the eye. And Maybelle was wearing the same look.

"What have you been telling him, Maybelle?" Scarlett said, her voice shaking. "He seems to know an awful lot about me…considering…considering..." She managed to stop herself just in time before she blurted out the fact that her husband wasn't living with her. Even though everyone in Atlanta knew that fact. "Have you…have you been writing to him and telling him about what I have been doing?"

Maybelle didn't answer. Instead, Scarlett saw tears start to well up in her eyes. She looked away and Scarlett saw her drag one of her calloused and sunkissed hands across her face.

"Scarlett," she finally muttered. "Well, you see, I…" and then her body jerked as though she was swallowing a sob. "I don't…I don't know what to say."

"The truth would help to start with, Maybelle," Scarlett answered crisply. And then, realising Maybelle hadn't denied the accusation she had levied at her, she repeated the question, "You wrote to Rhett, didn't you? That's how you knew his mother's address. That's how you knew she lived on the Battery."

"Oh Scarlett," Maybelle cried desperately. "Please, please forgive me. It's just that, well, after Captain Butler left in April on….business… a week or so later, he suddenly turned up on our doorstep. The children were with Ma and Pa and René was out making deliveries for the bakery. He didn't come in – he was very keen not to be seen but he was very _gentlemanly_ and proper of course. He looked – _dreadful_. Ill, almost, as though he hadn't slept for a few days. He seemed sad I suppose and slightly erm _unkempt_." She whispered the last word, as though she was betraying him, which made Scarlett's hackles rise. "He told me he would be away again for a while – it was unavoidable - but he said that he was…erm…worried about you and…well…he said that he had no choice but to go away but he wondered if I would just write to him once a month, care of his mother, and let him know that you were alright. Captain Butler told me that you were always so proud and that because of that you wouldn't tell him if you needed help. When he explained it like that, I thought that I was…helping…you."

"Helping me?" Scarlett exclaimed. "How could you think you were helping me?"

"Because…I…I… Scarlett, my dear, sweet friend. I..just…well…I had realised that you had also been a bit…sad…and I thought that perhaps you and Captain Butler…well… " She didn't need to say anything else. Scarlett knew exactly what she was thinking. Atlanta society was just slightly too polite to vocalise what they really knew and thought. The semi-scandal that Scarlett knew circled around her was just that – a scandal in part. Because technically, she was still married, she still had a husband who perhaps – just maybe – had put in enough appearances to keep everyone not entirely convinced as to what was happening between them. What the true status of their marriage was.

"You betrayed me, Maybelle," said Scarlett icily.

Suddenly, Maybelle was on her feet and she moved and sat down on the sofa next to Scarlett. She took her left hand and clasped it tightly in hers. Scarlett wriggled out of the embrace. "Dear Scarlett, please don't think like that….I…well, your husband was worried about you…"

"No he wasn't," snapped Scarlett. "He's got ulterior motives. He…" She stopped herself. So long as she didn't actually speak the truth about her marriage, she could continue the pretence.

"Scarlett, my dear…please…"

"So, you wrote to _my _husband about me. Don't you think that was rather _improper_ of you? Apart from betraying me, weren't you betraying your husband by communicating with a man – and not just any man but a man with the reputation of my husband."

Maybelle swallowed a couple of times and wiped the tears from her face. "No, I…well, Captain Butler made it clear to me that he expected me to confide in René and tell him what I had agreed to do and he said that if I was uncomfortable about it or if René was uncomfortable about it, he would understand. But I spoke to René and he understood and he said I _should _write to Captain Butler every month, letting him know how you were and the children were…"

"So René has betrayed me too?"

"It's not like that…"

"What _is _it like then? I think I've heard all I need to Maybelle. At least I know where your loyalties lie now." She stood up. "I suppose I had better be going and you can expect my resignation as secretary for the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy." She tossed her hair haughtily and then raised her head high. "Good day, Maybelle."

"Scarlett. Please…Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?"

"Just that…" Maybelle faltered and a single tear trickled down her face. "Scarlett, please don't be angry with me. I only did what I thought was best. Honestly, I only had your best interests at heart. I've sensed for a while…that…well…that…erm…things have been…difficult for you and I hate to see you so miserable and…."

"I'm not miserable!" Scarlett said, Rhett's taunt about her moping around Atlanta suddenly coming into her mind. "I'm just trying to get on with my life. Quietly. Without interference. Good day, Maybelle."

She turned on her heels and walked towards the door opening it, her hands shaking as she gripped the door handle. She stepped outside, into the blistering heat and breathed in the suffocating air, before she felt her eyes sting with tears and saw her vision blur. She stumbled down the steps, not daring to look back. She just wanted to get into her carriage. Now. And drive quickly home. If only, Pork had driven her in the covered carriage, so that she could not only be sheltered from the sun but from the stares of onlookers. She had _trusted_ Maybelle. That was what hurt so much. It was the first time in her life since she had had Cathleen Calvert as her confidante that she had felt that she would value the friendship of another woman. Yes, Melly had been a confidante but she hadn't really _wanted_ Melly as a friend – not until it was too late. Melly had been forced on her and Melly had forced herself on her. And Melly was unique and special and they were inextricably bound by blood ties. But with Maybelle, it had been different. She had let her guard down when there had been no need to but she had been right all along. She couldn't trust other women. Apart from her mother, Melly and Mammy. And her mother and Melly were dead and somehow, Mammy didn't quite count.

~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Scarlett forced herself to pass a pleasant enough afternoon with the Wilkes', Emma and Uncle Henry. She vocally participated in the afternoon, but her heart wasn't really in it and when India suggested that four o'clock was an appropriate time to leave without overstaying their welcome, she didn't try to detain them. Ashley offered to give Emma a ride back to her home whilst India took it upon herself to take Beau to see Aunt Pittypat – who, even though she was approaching old age, was still adamant that she did not want to spend any more time with her brother than was strictly necessary, and so had declined Scarlett's late invitation to dinner.

After the other guests had left, Henry Hamilton poured himself a glass of cordial, drained it and then rose from his chair.

"Well, I should be going too, Scarlett," he said.

"Of course, Uncle Henry," Scarlett replied. "But before you go, I have something for you that I would like you to take." She got up from the settee she was sitting on and closed the doors to the parlour. She didn't want to risk any prying eyes. Then, she walked over to a side cabinet and pulled out a large wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl and two smaller velvet pouches which lay on top, that she had hidden earlier in the day.

"This is the jewellery I want you to sell," she said quietly as she walked over to Henry. He took the box and the small bags and carefully opened the box. On top of the pile of various gems and semi-precious stones was Scarlett's engagement ring.

"You want to sell _this_?" he asked as he took the ring out and held it in the sunlight.

"Yes," replied Scarlett quickly. "Don't look so shocked, Uncle Henry! It's probably the most valuable of all the pieces in there so it makes…sense to sell it."

"Sense? There is no sense in any of this, Scarlett. This is your engagement ring!"

"I'm fully aware of what it is," snapped Scarlett, bristling at Uncle Henry's admonishment of her. "I'm keeping my _wedding_ ring. But really, Uncle Henry, I don't need to wear my engagement ring too. I didn't even have an engagement ring when I was betrothed to Frank so it's an unnecessary piece of jewellery. Besides, I always thought that Rhett bought that ring out of spite rather than love."

"Don't be so ridiculous!" rebuked Henry.

"It's true," said Scarlett levelling her eyes at Charlie's uncle. "I think he wanted to buy me something that was so big it bordered on vulgarity and I would be embarrassed to wear it. And if that was his intention, then he has succeeded. I _am_ embarrassed to wear it and I've decided I'm never going to wear it again. It has…well…it doesn't exactly bring back happy memories." He cocked his left eyebrow at her and for a moment she wondered if he was going to start scolding her. But instead, a silence fell between them as he turned the ring between his fingers again and again.

At his lack of communication, Scarlett felt her heart begin to race. Please God, she prayed silently, please let Uncle Henry just take the stones and leave. I don't need to justify my reasons.

After a few more moments, Uncle Henry stood up and went to the mantelpiece. He picked up a miniature portrait of Wade and ran his fingers round the edges. "Scarlett, I hadn't wanted to tell you this because I felt as though I would be breaking a confidence…but Rhett…well, after he left in April…he came back after a week or so. Allegedly on business and he…"

"I know!" Scarlett exclaimed.

"How do you know?"

"I know because he asked Maybelle to _spy _on me."

"And he asked me to keep an eye on you too!" Henry said. Scarlett looked sharply at him.

"What…what do you mean?"

"I mean what I just said! He said that…well, actually he didn't say very much. But he said that he thought that the two of you needed time apart but that he wanted to go away knowing that someone was keeping an eye on you. For him. He was worried about you."

"_Worried _about me! _Worried _about me! That's a joke. If he was so _worried_ he wouldn't have…he wouldn't have…_left _me!" There, she had finally said out loud what everyone knew and which Uncle Henry had certainly known back in April and as she said it, her face crumpled. She felt the familiar wetness of tears falling down her cheeks, and wiped her sleeve on her face.

"Oh Scarlett," said Uncle Henry, his demeanour immediately softening. He went over to her and then, uncharacteristically, took her in his arms and held her. "There, there, darling Scarlett. There, there. It will be all right in the end." After a while, Scarlett's tears dried and she wriggled out of his embrace.

"Uncle Henry, have you been spying on me too?" she asked softly.

"Not exactly spying my dear. Just keeping your husband informed of your financial situation."

"Spying…keeping an eye on me…it's all the same thing isn't it?"

"It depends whether it is done with the best of intentions, Scarlett. I was keeping an eye on you because…"

"Please…please…don't go on," Scarlett said. "I always felt that I could trust you and I don't want to hear your justifications. But please, please don't tell him anything more about me. I really and truly am on my own now. Our marriage is…unsalvageable…he's said as much…and I think he's right…and I just want to get on with my life. You won't tell him anything else will you?"

"Well, Scarlett…"

"You have to promise me, Uncle Henry. I need your loyalty. I need to be able to trust you." He continued staring at her as though he was weighing up his options. "Wade needs to be able to trust you…" she added. She was not averse to blackmail if the need arose. And the need was arising. She had to be sure.

He slumped his shoulders and then shook his head. "No, my dear. If you really want…"

"I do want it," she interjected. "I want to start my new life and I can't if I think he might interfere at any moment." She looked across at the box and pouches Uncle Henry had put down on a table. "So you'll sell them for me? Discretely of course," she asked, nodding her head in the direction of the jewellery.

"Yes," he said, sighing loudly. "I'll see what I can do. I know someone who might be able to help. He doesn't live in Atlanta – not at the moment anyway but he passes through from time to time, and he is very private. I suspect he might know a purchaser."

"Thank you, Uncle Henry," Scarlett said. "And once I have the money, I'll think about turning this place into something that looks less like…well, it doesn't matter what it looks like at the moment. I'm going to make it more like a home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett felt shaken by her altercation with Maybelle, and disconcerted by Uncle Henry's revelations but she focussed her attentions on the return of the children. By Friday, she had everything ready for their arrival – and had bought both of them new clothes, some new books and had resolved to allow Wade to ride his horse. She went to the store early and her good mood benefitted both Emma and Mary as she let them leave at midday – Mary was spending the weekend in the country and Emma wanted to go home early to prepare a birthday supper for her mother. As she bade the women goodbye, she yawned and then saw Jack Picard across the street, making his way towards the store. He caught her eye and smiled broadly at her and she realised that there would be no way to avoid him.

As he approached her, she noticed he was wearing neither a cravat nor a hat, and his hair was ruffled and falling into his eyes. She looked out onto the street and saw that he had not come on a horse or a carriage. He must have walked.

"Hello Scarlett," he said as Scarlett stood tight lipped on the threshold of the shop. "I haven't seen you for a while and I was passing so I thought I'd stop by on the off-chance you were at the store."

"Hello Jack," said Scarlett quietly. Looking objectively at him, with his mussed hair and tanned skin, she wasn't oblivious to his handsomeness. He had an earthy, almost raw quality, that was out of keeping with the rest of the Atlanta folk and his eyes sparkled with life and mischievousness but were kind too. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed his eyes before.

"Are you…erm…shutting up the store, or can I take a look inside…I wanted to buy some new…cushions for Maybelle…"

"Cushions?" Scarlett asked as she opened the door wider to let him in. "Cushions?" she repeated quietly, out of earshot, thinking how silly it was of him to be buying Maybelle some cushions when her front room was overflowing with them. But she didn't say anything and instead gestured him in.

"Are you alone?" he asked as she led him to the back of the store.

"Technically yes although Hugh should be back at any moment. He has just gone to the bank for me." She didn't look at him as she spoke in case he saw her blush. "Here are the cushions," she said, as she showed him three shelves full. "I'll leave you to it."

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I was hoping you would be able to help me choose something."

"I'm actually quite busy, Jack…"

"I know but women have so much better taste then men when it comes to home decoration." Scarlett smiled coyly as she caught his eye. He was definitely flirting with her and it gave her a warm feeling. At least one man found her attractive, even if it wasn't the man she wanted.

"Well, I'm sure I can suggest something," she said and as she bent down to look at the stock, she wondered if she could offload a couple of cushion designs that hadn't sold in weeks to Jack. After all, she was still mightily angry with Maybelle and this would be some sort of revenge – albeit discreet revenge. "How about this?" she said, pulling out an ugly, ochre, large, square cushion.

"Hmmm – perhaps something softer," said Jack. He started rifling through the display and then he suddenly stopped. "Actually Scarlett, I was wondering if I could perhaps take you out for a carriage ride next week, one morning. With Wade and Ella too of course."

"A…carriage…ride…?" stammered Scarlett. "I'm not sure that that would really be appropriate…"

"What's inappropriate?"

"Well, just that I am a married woman and…"

"I'm only inviting you and your children to come on a carriage ride with me, Scarlett. I'm not asking you to run away with me. At least not yet."

"Jack!" Scarlett scolded.

"I was only joking Scarlett," he said, laughing. "So how about it? A carriage ride next week? I might have to borrow your carriage though." Scarlett remained mute. "It's only a carriage ride, Scarlett!"

"I know, I know, it's just…" Her voice trailed off as she thought about his proposal. It was inappropriate but hadn't she taken numerous carriage rides with Rhett when she had been married to Frank, admittedly in the aftermath of the war when people weren't quite so alert to improper behaviour? And as she thought back to those days and looked at her current situation, perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to continue her friendship with Jack, even if he was related to Maybelle. If of course she could trust him, if his attentions towards her weren't some underhand ploy of Rhett's. "I'll think about it Jack. Wade and Ella get back tomorrow and I am not sure what we are going to do next week, but I'll think about it."

"I won't take "no" for an answer, Mrs Butler," he said.

"You are as obstinate as…well, I said I'll think about it. And I'll do just that. I'll let you know on Monday."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was four o'clock by the time Scarlett finally left the store and when she got home, all she could think about was going to sleep and not waking up for a long time. She climbed the stairs and walked into her bedroom before she fell into one of the chairs which overlooked the back yard. She picked up the pale green velvet material that she was considering using to make new curtains for her bedroom, felt its softness between her fingers and then closed her eyes and started day dreaming about her renovation ambitions. She had a clear idea of how she wanted to change her bedroom, and the dining room and the hallway would be easy – she would carry through the light and airy theme that she had used in the parlour. She would leave the other, less used rooms that were downstairs for a later time but if she had the energy, she would redecorate Rhett's room and expunge his presence accordingly. And Bonnie's room too. Bonnie's room which was still, after almost a year of her little girl's absence, painful to walk past.

Scarlett sighed and then, seemingly out of nowhere, she felt a sob rise in her throat. She swallowed hard and felt her throat bruise. In seven more weeks, it would be the first anniversary of the accident and somehow, Scarlett would have to get through that day. Somehow she would have to pull on all her energy and carry on and try and put aside the _if only _thoughts that would almost certainly plague her mind. As well as the new, additional _If only_ thought. If only Rhett would be by her side so that they could grieve together, rather than separately. If only Rhett still loved her or liked her enough that they could perhaps try and have another child together.

It was too early to get ready for bed, but after having a fretful night's sleep and working at the store for seven straight hours, Scarlett fell asleep in the chair. When she awoke, it was nearly five o'clock. Her neck felt stiff from the awkward position she had slept in and her back ached from the crates she had been moved in the morning. She stood up and stretched and resented her corset digging into her. Perhaps she would ask Mammy to draw her a bath and retire early. There was no real need for her to stay up late.

As she walked across her bedroom towards her bed to ring for Mammy, she heard a distant knocking on the front door. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it as it was so faint but then she heard footsteps and then Mammy's low pitched voice of exclamations and finally, Ella's squeals of delight as she was enveloped in Mammy's broad, welcoming bosom – or so Scarlett imagined. "Miss Scarlett," she heard Mammy call out. "Miss Scarlett, dey is home. Miss Ella and Master Wade is home."

Forgetting her earlier discomfort, Scarlett picked up her skirts, opened the door and started walking briskly towards the central staircase and as she reached the top, she saw her two children, bedecked in new clothes, Wade looking older than she had thought it was possible for him to look, grinning from ear to ear. "Mother!" they cried out in unison, as they saw her, rushing down the stairs, clutching the handrail tightly. She reached the bottom and Ella immediately rushed towards her, her arms outstretched. She scooped her youngest child up in an embrace and kissed her repeatedly on her scarred and scabby forehead before she put her down again.

It was only then that she saw her. She was standing next to Minnie smiling warmly, her eyes crinkling in amusement. She stood proudly and tall, her clothes elegantly cut in a dark navy silk which brought out the blue in her eyes. The same colour as Bonnie's.

"Good afternoon Scarlett," she said with authority.

A wave of nausea washed over Scarlett and she felt her heart begin to pound harder and harder in her chest. Why was she here? Why was this woman who had never shown any interest in her before, here, in her house again?

The elderly woman walked towards her and held out her a gloved hand. As Scarlett took it, she pulled Scarlett in and kissed her softly on the cheek. "It's so wonderful to see you again," she whispered. "It's been…too long…"

"Good afternoon, Mrs Butler," Scarlett finally managed to say. "Good afternoon."


	28. Chapter 28

_Have I used heartened in the right place? Can you "gesture" your head? And was the word "aficionado" around in 1874?_

_I have decided to post this. I have written the second part of this chapter but it is too "bitty" and I am not sure if I have got Eleanor right. I need a bit more time. Anyway – blame "Guest" [from Dixie's latest chapter] and Olga and RhettLovesScarlett for this unfinished attempt. As well as Dixie's challenge to push her lower down the board. _

_Carla – I agree with you. It was slightly inconsistent to have Scarlett contemplate a carriage ride with Jack after Maybelle's "treachery" (poor Maybelle). Eva1017 – I understand why you aren't a fan of the Maybelle-Scarlett dynamic. My reasons are that I think people's attitudes towards Scarlett have shifted – perhaps it is unrealistic – but I think that when something tragic happens to you [I have some experience here], the least likely people come out of the woodwork if they have experienced a similar situation. And I think losing a child is one of those experiences that you only can empathise with if it happens to you. Plus, Maybelle has a crush on Rhett (I think Melly did too – in her own way) and if he asked her to do this, she would do it. But she has only written maybe twice to him. Then, there is a line in GWTW where MM refers to Scarlett's loneliness when she is in Atlanta – just before her father dies. She is lonely for female companionship (Melly is still at Tara). I think all women need at least one good female friend – and as Melly has died, Scarlett needs to fill that void. So that is why Scarlett perhaps rushes her friendship with Maybelle. That's my reasoning anyway! I respect all views! And Eva I liked your criticism. Fabulous Katie – if you are still out there, I am now paranoid about calling lunch anything but dinner! It's funny how comments stick with you when you are writing a story. Coco B – your knowledge of GWTW is AMAZING. Thank you for helping out. Right – enough with all that waffle. I am very conscious that this might be dragging – maybe being a lawyer is making me too pedantic. I am trying to get things written and done but it aint easy! A bit of a transition chapter but Chapter 29 will be up shortly. Then we will have a lot of drama in Chapter 30. Bear with me and thanks for sticking with this story!_

Chapter 28

Scarlett stood motionless for several moments and the whole house stood still with her too. No one spoke, not even Ella, and the only movement was the swivelling of black, blue, hazel and one pair of green irises that pivoted between the children and the lady of the house and the absent husband's mother. Scarlett knew she should say something but a mass of thoughts was running through her head and she couldn't think clearly. This woman, who had barely exchanged two words with her during her six year marriage to her son, was standing before her, regal and expectant and resplendent in the finest silks that no doubt, Rhett's money could buy. What on earth was she doing here? And exactly how long was she intending to be stay? And how many fake pleasantries would have to be exchanged before she left?

It was Pork that broke the trance. His tall frame, with the beginnings of a slight stoop, suddenly pushed the front door open and he stumbled in, laden with trunks, bags and…hat boxes. Hat boxes? Why on earth would Pork be bringing in hat boxes? Scarlett wondered and she was about to ask if he had collected the correct luggage from the station when Mammy shot her mistress a reproachful look and whispered indiscreetly, "Miss Scarlett?"

Scarlett felt herself blush as she remembered her manners and her upbringing. She cleared her throat. "Mrs Butler, it must have been a long journey. Can I bring you something to drink? Some lemonade? Or perhaps you would prefer some tea?"

"Some tea would be wonderful," she said, her mouth breaking into a broad smile. "I have become rather a tea aficionado after Rhett took me to London at the end of last year." Scarlett's stomach turned at the mention of her husband's name. So his mother had accompanied him to Europe last year. For some reason she had thought he had travelled alone – wouldn't the presence of his mother have restricted his freedom and his pursuit of other, more hedonistic pastimes? Scarlett turned to Mammy to ask her to bring in the refreshments but was met by an even more penetrating, disapproving scowl and then Mammy raised her eyebrows and gestured her head towards the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was past five o'clock and in just over an hour supper would be served.

"Or perhaps you would…" Scarlet cleared her throat again. Oh dear God, why did she have to do this? She would kill Rhett if she ever saw him again! Why did she have to entertain his mother? "And perhaps you would like to stay for supper. Then I can get Pork to drive you back to your hotel. I assume you are staying at the National."

"The National?" Mrs Butler asked and she looked at Scarlett, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. They were the shape and colour of Bonnie's eyes but they had the sparkle of Rhett's in those long ago days when he had been seemingly carefree, when their marriage, when Bonnie's death, hadn't worn him down. When he had actually wanted her. "Oh no, my dear. No, no. I'm not staying there. Well, I suppose I should have written to you in advance which is very…neglectful… of me. Actually, I was rather hoping you wouldn't mind if I stayed here for tonight. You have a spare bedroom don't you?"

Scarlett's eyes widened incredulously and she opened her mouth as if to say something but no words came out. Of course she had a spare bedroom! Several. But she didn't want this woman staying under her roof. She was already feeling thrown by her presence and her equilibrium would only be restored once she had left and she was alone.

"Well…I…" she stammered but that was all she managed to articulate. She felt little beads of perspiration prick her forehead and she wiped them away with her fingers. She tried again. "You see, Mrs Butler…it's just that…"

Suddenly, Wade's voice piped up. "Mother, Grandma can stay in the bedroom that Aunt Sue and Uncle Will use, can't she?"

_Grandma_?_ Grandma_? When did she become his grandmother? He was twelve years old and he didn't need to suddenly inherit a grandmother – especially if she was the mother of a stepfather who had abandoned the whole family! This whole episode was becoming more ridiculous by the minute! And now her son had offered his newly acquired grandmother a room! Oh, just wait until she was alone with her son. She would remind him of his place!

"Yes…yes…of course," Scarlett stuttered. She cast a glance in Wade's direction but he wasn't looking at his mother; he was looking at the interloper and smiling warmly and welcomingly at her. And Ella was too! Had this elderly woman bewitched her entire family? Or was this some sort of nasty trick that Rhett was playing on her?

Scarlett turned to Dilcey who was hovering in the background, her black eyes alert and suspicious. At least, thought Scarlett, not everyone has fallen for her artifice, even if her children had. "Dilcey, would you please ask Reena to get the bedroom prepared and then would you please arrange for some tea to be brought into the parlour."

"Yes'm," Dilcey replied and bobbed a curtsey as she left the group.

Scarlett then turned to Wade and Ella. "Children, please go upstairs with Mammy and get ready for supper."

"Can I show Grandma my dolls, Mother?" Ella asked.

Scarlett sucked in her breath, bristling at the use of the word again. "After supper, Ella," Scarlett replied evenly, trying to remain emotionless, even though she felt frustrated and angry. And strangely upset. "Now, please go with Mammy." Ella pursed her lips to oppose the order but then, reading her mother's bewildered and frightening expression, decided it was probably better not to push her luck. Reluctantly, she slipped her hand in Mammy's and started up the stairs with Wade following behind.

After the children were out of earshot, Mrs Butler turned to her daughter-in-law and in a muted tone said, "I hope you don't mind the children calling me Grandma, Scarlett. Naturally, I wouldn't want you to think I was disrespecting your dear, sweet mother but, well, Ella asked me if she could call me Grandma and I thought it was rather lovely and Wade copied her, although I suspect he's probably too old to start calling me Grandma. Especially after all this time. But the moniker Mrs Butler seemed altogether too formal and Eleanor didn't seem quite right. Besides, they are practically my grandchildren."

Practically your _grandchildren_? How are they _practically_ your grandchildren? Scarlett seethed silently.

Mrs Butler caught Scarlett's half raised eyebrows. "Well, they are Rhett's stepchildren and were my granddaughter's siblings and so I thought…but…if you would rather…"

"Their real grandparents are all dead," Scarlett said crisply. "It makes no difference to me." Which wasn't entirely true. It did make a difference to her although she wasn't quite sure why or how. Was this another part of Rhett's ploy to hurt her, to try and take the children metaphorically away from her? Scarlett straightened her shoulders and with her chin slightly elevated, she turned to her guest. "Mrs Butler. Let's go through to the parlour. Dilcey will bring the tea through shortly."

Scarlett lifted up her skirts, pirouetted around and started to move but she was stopped by Eleanor Butler placing a hand on her arm. "Oh Scarlett. When you call me Mrs Butler it makes me feel…" She paused as she looked directly into her daughter-in-law's eyes. "It makes me feel like a stranger. You're Rhett's wife after all which makes you part of my family. You must call me Eleanor." Scarlett forced a smile. She wasn't going to fall for her chicanery whatever sickly sweet persona she exhibited but she could pretend. It was only for one evening. In less than twenty-four hours again, she would be gone.

"Miss Eleanor, then," and Scarlett smiled vacantly again. "Please come through to the parlour."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Supper was over almost as quickly as it was served. The children were tired, and when Wade dropped his ice-cream on the floor, Scarlett called a halt to the meal and ushered Wade and Ella upstairs. Tossing her napkin onto the table, she followed, with Eleanor clicking at her heels and when both the women entered Ella's bedroom, Ella insisted on Eleanor reading her a story. Scarlett didn't resist – even though she felt temporarily usurped in her daughter's affections. If Eleanor was occupied with her daughter, she thought, it would provide her with the perfect excuse to retire to her own bedroom and avoid any further conversation.

The next day, Scarlett got up early. She wanted to leave the house before the rest of the household awoke – or at least, before Eleanor Butler stirred. She had decided to spend the day at the store – where she could cocoon herself away from Eleanor's questions and assertions of blame - and so she penned a short note to Eleanor, apologising for her absence, wishing her safe travel home and explaining that something urgent had come up at the store which had required her attendance. She opened her bedroom door just as the grandfather clock chimed seven times and almost bumped into Ella who was running down the corridor.

"Ella, please be careful," Scarlett admonished in a hushed voice.

"Sorry Mother," Ella squealed.

"Shhh." Scarlett whispered hoarsely. "Speak softly. You'll wake everyone up. Why are you out of bed so early anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep Mother. My spots were itching _all _night. And then I just gave up _trying_ to sleep. I've been up for ages."

Scarlett looked at her daughter and the inflamed scabs that peppered her arms. "I'll put some special ointment on them tonight which should help with the itching."

Ella shook her head. "No, Mother. It's alright. Grandma has some special…oin…ointment. I went into her bedroom last night and she put something on them. They're better now. They've stopped itching." Scarlett rolled her eyes. The fact that her daughter would rather go into the bedroom of a stranger for comfort rather than come to her, her mother, pained her and brought back memories of Rhett's vicious taunts about how her own children were scared of her, how a cat was a better mother. She shook her head, trying to erase the memories. Why could she never remember the nice things he had said to her? Was it because there weren't any?

"I'm going to practice croquet now!" Ella said, blissfully unaware of her mother's increasing agitation and sense of indignation. "Aunt Rosemary taught me to play properly," she continued, shouting over her shoulder as she began to skip down the hallway. "I even beat her and Wade. And Uncle Rhett. Uncle Rhett was _hopeless_, Mother. He didn't win once."

"Ella wait! Don't leave whilst I'm still talking," Scarlett scolded, still trying to keep the noise level down. "Now, have you eaten breakfast, yet?" Ella stopped in her tracks and sloped back towards her mother.

"I'll eat it later. I'm not hungry."

"No. You'll eat it before you go and play please. Go on," Scarlett said.

"But I'm not…"

"Ella, I'm not in the mood for you to disobey me. You'll do as I ask please." She looked at her daughter and noticed the cream dress she had on. "And if you are going to go outside, please change out of that dress. It's completely impractical to play in the yard in a cream dress. Where did you get it anyway? I don't think I've seen it before."

"Grandma bought it for me. She bought me some matching slippers too. She said I looked like a princess in it!"

Scarlett frowned. "Well, please change out of it." Ella began to pout. "You can wear the new fawn dress I bought you."

Ella nodded and then looked her mother up and down. Then, she pushed her unruly curls out of her eyes and bit her lip. "Mother," she said quietly but hopefully. "Mother, where are you going?"

"I'm going to the store, Ella."

"Oh," she replied and she made no effort to hide her disappointment. "It's just that I was hoping you would…" She stopped for a few moments. "Will you be back at dinnertime?"

"I don't think so," replied Scarlett, and suddenly feeling chastised by her own daughter, she said in a softer tone. "I have a lot to do, darling. Money doesn't grow on trees and I have to work. But I'll be back for supper." If she was back by supper, Mrs Butler would certainly have gone. Seeing her crestfallen face, Scarlett hastily added. "I'll ask Mammy to take you to play with Beau – or Beau can come over here if you like. He can eat supper with us too – if…if you would like."

"Beau will probably want to play with Wade," said Ella sullenly. "Or he'll be out with the older boys." Scarlett sighed, knowing that what Ella said was most likely true. Not that Beau wasn't patient with Ella or kind to her.

"Well," said Scarlett, thinking quickly again. "If he's busy, then play with Pansy. Perhaps you can teach her croquet?" Ella's eyes brightened – she enjoyed playing with Pansy who was slightly shy and didn't mind too much when Ella bossed her around – even though she was older than Ella.

"And we'll do something together tomorrow," she added as further appeasement, as a further attempt to regain her daughter's favour. "Perhaps _we_ can play croquet together too. Now, run along darling and please go and eat your breakfast. Before it gets cold."

"It's not ready yet…"

"Well Ella…go and play with your dolls or something or read a book." Scarlett looked at the clock in the hallway. "Sorry Ella, but I really do have to get to the store. Before it opens up." And before Eleanor Butler wakes up.

"Alright Mother," Ella said, sighing. She turned her back on Scarlett and started traipsing towards the nursery.

"I'll see you at suppertime," Scarlett cried out softly after her but Ella didn't turn round. She sighed too, feeling slightly deflated and then, she collected her skirt in one hand and walked briskly down the staircase.

When she reached the lower hallway, she went over to a table and propped the note that she had written for Eleanor against a vase of flowers. She felt guilty and slightly sheepish but she knew it was best if she just slipped out. Then, she walked towards the front door and hearing a gentle pitter-patter against the glass panes, peered out of one of the windows that bordered the sides of the imposing, oak frame. It had begun to rain. She huffed at the inconvenience, turned and made her way into Rhett's old study – a room that had barely been touched since he had left in October - to gather an umbrella. As she walked out, she felt someone was watching her and, unnerved, she cast a quick glance over her right shoulder, expecting to see one of the servants. But there was no one. She continued walking through the hallway, and when she reached the front door, she released the catch and opened it. Pork was waiting outside with the carriage and as she fumbled with the clasp of the umbrella, she deliberated if she should go and tell Dilcey that Ella was not to play outside.

"Scarlett," she heard a soft voice call out. She turned round and saw Rhett's mother walking towards her, immaculately dressed in a pale green dress with cream gloves and a mint green hat.

"Good morning, Scarlett," she said. "My goodness, you look rather lovely today. What a beautiful colour that is on you." For a moment, Scarlett was startled and didn't move. And then she felt her ire start to simmer. Damn she cursed silently. Damn, damn, damn. She swallowed a scowl and tried to smile.

"Thank you Miss Eleanor. I was…I have to go out. To the store."

"So early?" Eleanor enquired, slowly. "That's a shame. I thought we could have breakfast together."

"I've already eaten Miss Eleanor," Scarlett said inaccurately - she had actually only managed to swig a few mouthfuls of bitter coffee and have a couple of spoonfuls of scrambled egg. It was too early for her to eat anything more substantial.

"Oh I see," said Eleanor. Suddenly Scarlett remembered the note she had left leaning against the vase and a wave of panic washed over her. Now that Eleanor had seen her, she couldn't let her read the note. She pushed the door to, sidled back inside towards the table and with her right hand, groped behind for the envelope. She squeezed the offending object hard in her hands until she felt it collapse and crumple.

"I can arrange for Dilcey to bring you some breakfast, if you would like Miss Eleanor. I suspect she hadn't realised you were already awake," said Scarlett, moving towards the kitchen. If she could get to the kitchen, she could throw the envelope in the stove.

"Hmmm. No dear. There's no need. I'm not really hungry. I just thought it would have been a nice way to start the day – sharing a meal together. We didn't really get the opportunity to speak much last night. The children did rather dominate the conversation with their tales from Charleston."

"Yes…yes…" Scarlett looked anxiously at her mother-in-law. She didn't want to be alone with her. "But breakfast. Let me just speak to Dilcey now. She's getting Ella something and…perhaps you can eat with Ella?"

"Really, Scarlett. I won't starve. We had such a wonderful meal last night."

"It's no bother," Scarlett tried again, half-heartedly as she tried to stall for time, as she tried to think how she could shake Eleanor off her tail.

Eleanor smiled and shook her head. "I'll eat something later." Then, the two women locked eyes and once again, Scarlett felt as though she was falling into a trap, a trap which she could do nothing to stop falling into. Eleanor was up to something but she couldn't quite put her finger on what - she was playing her cards too close to her chest.

Eleanor blinked first. "Well, if you are off to the store, I shouldn't delay you but, if you wouldn't mind awfully, I'd like to come with you. Rhett has always told me how busy you are at…Kennedy's…that's the name isn't it?... and I'm rather curious and…" She cleared her throat. "I think it would be rather nice to spend some time together, don't you think?"

Scarlett's heart started racing. "Erm…you see…" but she couldn't think quickly enough, couldn't think of any excuse. Damn, cursed Scarlett again. Why was this woman so persistent? Was she trying to get her on her own so that she could berate her for her spousal failings? Was that what this whole act was about? Well, if she tried to blame her for her failed marriage, she wouldn't hold back on what Rhett was really like. Perhaps she might think differently about her precious son if Scarlett helped her open her eyes. What would she really think of him if she knew that he had been persistently unfaithful throughout his entire marriage – or at least three quarters of it? And how would she really view her son if she knew that he thought nothing of trying to seduce the wife he had rejected merely because it was _convenient to _climb into her bed rather than the bed of that red-haired, overpainted floozy?

Eleanor raised her eyebrows but didn't speak and instead she looked at Scarlett, as though she was waiting for her excuses to start tumbling out. But none came. Then, Scarlett turned the corners of her mouth upwards and smiled. The smile she had often used when dealing with tricky beaux. She could play the same game of pretence as Rhett's mother she thought. After all, hadn't Rhett mentored her for years?

"Miss Eleanor," she finally said and beamed insincerely again. "That would be lovely. I can show you around Atlanta too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleanor and Scarlett rode to the store in comparative silence, broken only by Eleanor enquiring after a couple of landmarks of the city. Scarlett saw her yawn a couple of times which heartened her and gave her hope that Eleanor would retire to the house early and then catch her train home. A few times during the journey she thought about broaching the subject of her departure but when she looked at Eleanor's peaceful demeanour, she swallowed her question. It could wait – for now. If Eleanor was still at the store by dinnertime, she would raise it then.

But when dinnertime came, and Scarlett was building up the courage to ask the awkward question, Eleanor came into the office with fresh bread and pastries from Mrs Merriwether's bakery and plopped them down on the countertop. "What a lovely lady Mrs Merriwether is. She let me taste all manner of cakes before I bought these. Her daughter was there too. She asked after you."

Scarlett snorted and ignored the comment. If she never spoke to Maybelle again, it would be too soon. She smiled at Eleanor. "Thank you, Miss Eleanor. I was feeling a bit lightheaded for lack of food. I sometimes forget to eat when I am at the store."

"I can see you do," said Eleanor reprovingly as she scrutinised Scarlett's scrawny frame. "There's no one to look after you. That's the problem."

Scarlett's eyes shot up to her mother-in-law's face. "I can look after myself well enough," she said icily. "And, I have Mammy and Dilcey."

"Yes. But you should have your husband too."

Scarlett pulled her chair back, deliberately scraping it hard against the cold, stone floor. She peeped out of the window that overlooked the main part of the store and then exclaimed in a high pitch, "Oh, there's India. I've put some plates aside for her that I thought she might like. Excuse me, Miss Eleanor," and she hustled out of the small room, leaving a half-eaten pastry on her plate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the rest of the afternoon, Scarlett did her best to avoid Eleanor. If she avoided Eleanor, she wouldn't have to talk to her and if she didn't have to talk to her, she wouldn't have to hear about Rhett. Or risk a tongue lashing. For her part, Eleanor kept herself busy by re-arranging some shelves and occasionally assisting Emma at the till. But Eleanor was often breaking away from her chores in order to enthuse to Scarlett about the store, and the wide range of products, and reasonable prices and even siphoned off a few trinkets that she insisted on paying for. She was also frequently distracted by members of both the Old Guard and the noveau riche speculators who, hearing that Captain Butler's mother was in town and at Scarlett's store no less, had rushed over to Kennedy's to assuage their curiosity. Even Uncle Henry stopped by and pestered Scarlett for a proper introduction to the "charming" Mrs Butler, before he invited himself over for Sunday dinner which tickled Scarlett. Hadn't he been complaining to Rhett only in April that he was "old fashioned" enough to expect an invitation rather than come over to the house without one?

By five o'clock, Scarlett was exhausted and although she sensed Eleanor would never have admitted it, she was pretty certain that the older Mrs Butler was too.

"Miss Eleanor, we can leave Hugh to lock up. I'm rather parched and getting hungry. Shall we go home now?"

"Don't leave early on my account, Scarlett," said Eleanor but Scarlett saw her stifle a yawn.

"No, no. We should go. There's no need for us to stay."

Pork was waiting for them outside and helped them into the carriage. As the horses jerked into a trot, Eleanor turned to Scarlett. "How long have you had the store, my dear?"

"Almost nine years," Scarlett replied. "It was Frank's you see..." Eleanor looked confused. "My second husband's," she clarified when the silence ticked on for a few seconds too long. "He bought it…and well, when he died, I saw no reason to sell it and Rhett…he didn't seem to mind me having my own business." She paused as she conjured up a distant memory that had flattered her sensibilities. "He once told me he was proud to have a wife who was…smart and had business sense."

"That sounds like my Rhett," Eleanor said as she emitted a chuckle. "He's always been slightly ahead of the times. And he was certainly speaking sincerely. He has always been very proud of you. Proud of everything you've achieved."

"Proud of me?"

Eleanor shot Scarlett a surprised look. "Why of course, my dear." She frowned and then she leaned into her daughter-in-law, as though she was about to breach a confidence. "He's _still_ proud of you."

It was Scarlett's turn to be taken aback. She settled her eyes on Eleanor's face, and then stared into her blue eyes disbelievingly – thinking that if she looked deeply enough, she would detect the untruth in her statement. But she didn't see any evidence of a lie and she turned her head back to the window and sighed. "Maybe once upon a time…"

"No," said Eleanor firmly. "He's proud of you now. Why, I only heard him speak about you last week."

"Speak…of…me?" She stuttered, barely able to get the words out of her mouth, that had suddenly gone all dry. She felt her heart begin to beat quicker. Why, why, why did just speaking about him have this effect on her?

"Yes. He was telling our neighbour last week, when his son had been fishing with Wade, that you had got detained in Atlanta and hadn't been able to join him because of your business. And then he laughed at how he would be able to retire next year because of the money you were making from the store."

"Why…" Her voice trailed off as she digested the comment. Of course he was exaggerating – there was no way they could both live off the money from the store alone but why would he speak about her to anyone if he didn't have to? Why was he pretending that she would have come to Charleston? Why was he pretending that their marriage existed in anything other than name?

Scarlett felt Eleanor watching her but she continued staring out of the window. She could mask her thoughts that way and avoid Eleanor's constant gaze.

The carriage rumbled on over the cobbles and as it turned left into Peachtree Street, Eleanor broke the silence. "Scarlett, my dear," she said sleepily. "Would you mind awfully if I stayed on an extra few days. I think the journey from Charleston took more out of me than I had realised and the thought of travelling back tomorrow…well, I find the idea exhausting in itself." She took out her fan from her reticule and started waving it to try and break the humid air.

Scarlett smiled wryly, her face still turned to the window. By the number of extra cases and hat boxes that Pork had brought in yesterday afternoon, it had been obvious that Eleanor Butler's visit wasn't going to be fleeting. She had felt that she was being gently manipulated ever since she had walked through her front door twenty four hours ago. If Eleanor Butler was not going to call her out on her marital behaviour then she saw no reason to refuse the request. In fact, if she was forced to admit it, she had rather enjoyed the faint praise that her mother-in-law had bestowed on her throughout the day, even if she had slipped in the odd comment about her sometime husband.

Scarlett turned to face her and smiled her famed, dimpled smile. "Of course, Miss Eleanor. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need to."

"That's settled then. I'll stay for at least another week."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Eleanor Butler stayed for ten days and for most of the time, Scarlett felt she had an extra shadow. Eleanor followed her everywhere. She accompanied her to the store each morning –delighting the customers with her warmth and wit – and delighting Scarlett with her elegant window displays as well as the pecuniary results of the increased footfall. She accompanied her to Aunt Pitty's for afternoon tea, where she regaled Pitty with tales about her travels in Europe, and offered a sympathetic ear to Pitty's complaints about the constant changes in the South. And, despite her Episcopalian leanings, she even accompanied Scarlett to Mass on Sunday – when Scarlett, conscious that Eleanor was best friends with her staunchly Catholic aunt and not wanting her to think her a heathen, had decided that she should go to church with the children.

Scarlett used her time with Eleanor to try and rehabilitate her reputation as a mother. Uncertain exactly what lies - and elongated truths - Rhett might have told his mother about her maternal skills, Scarlett feared the worst and so took the opportunity to spend as much time with the children as she could. And Eleanor was never too far from her side. While she played croquet with Ella and Wade, a game she loathed because she was no good at it, or tried to read quietly to them, or teach them the piano, Eleanor would be the casual observer, sitting in a corner quietly with one eye on her embroidery or book and the other on her host and even if she appeared to be dozing, Scarlett could never be quite sure if she was really asleep or merely feigning sleep. Scarlett knew she was being watched and there was very little she could do about it. It was only in her bedroom, at the end of a long and busy day that she could finally lay down her shield as well as forget the litany of Rhett's own shortcomings that she had been carrying on the tip of her tongue - which she would use (if the need arose) as her ammunition in case she was forced to defend herself. At all times she felt that she had to be prepared – just in case Eleanor caught her off-guard and unleashed an attack on Scarlett, scolding her for her marital failings and blame her for her beloved son's happiness.

But as the days passed, Scarlett's initial wariness began to break down. She relaxed and even started to enjoy Eleanor's company. Eleanor was as charming as Scarlett had ever known Rhett to be but there was one difference: she didn't have the malicious tongue or the disguised slights of her son. And she learnt that she didn't stint on praise either. Every gown that Scarlett wore elicited some form of adulation – whether it was because of the style, or the colour or the material – and Eleanor would tell anyone who would listen how proud she was that her daughter-in-law had built up such a strong and thriving business. Scarlett couldn't help but smile and slowly the black cloud that had been hovering above her since that horrible night of Melly's death and Rhett's ultimate rejection, started to shift westwards.

There was a flurry of visitors not just to the store but to the house too, the Old Guard eager to finally meet the dowager Mrs Butler – a lady whom they had often wondered about but whom most had only seen from a distance, when Rhett had held her arm as he had stumbled down the aisle of the Church of Our Lady at his daughter's funeral. But it was Uncle Henry's response to Eleanor's presence that tickled Scarlett the most.

After Mass on Sunday, Scarlett had dropped the children and Eleanor back at the house and ridden over to the store – she had wanted to collect some books so that she could look over them in the evening. When she returned, she found Uncle Henry alone in the parlour with Eleanor, laughing about some long ago, forgotten Charleston scandal and sipping on a bottle of Rhett's French wine that he had helped himself to from the cellar. He had come over for Sunday dinner – allegedly at the bidding of Wade, although Scarlett never managed to verify that fact with her son – and found Eleanor alone in the house as the children had gone over to play with Beau for a couple of hours – and he had taken it upon himself to entertain her. When they took their seats for the meal, he sat next to her, and for the whole meal, scarcely cast a look at any of the rest of the family - and he was so charismatic that Scarlett would have believed that it was someone else sitting on the chair but for his distinctive silhouette and booming voice. Scarlett smiled wryly to herself. "There's life in the old dog yet," she mused and when he invited himself over for supper a couple of days later, Scarlett teased him about his fondness for her houseguest which actually caused him to blush, before he spluttered and guffawed that he was not quite sure what she was trying to insinuate and that she should keep such thoughts to herself. But Scarlett's jesting didn't stop him from attending supper at the Peachtree Street mansion either on that night or the Thursday night or from taking her on a carriage ride on the Saturday and so the gentle courting continued and to her amusement, Eleanor seemed quite taken with the old fool.

Despite all the pleasantries and the lighter mood that pervaded the house, the one topic of conversation that loomed like a large elephant between the two women was Rhett. Scarlett did her best to avoid talking about Rhett but Eleanor, like her son, was a master of manipulation. She would casually drop little snippets of information about Rhett into conversations, catching Scarlett out unexpectedly, and would regale the children with tales of their Uncle Rhett's childhood mishaps and scrapes, at the drop of a hat, more often than not, when Scarlett was in full earshot. And so it was by these means that she discovered that he had been briefly to Paris in May, this time travelling alone; that he had escorted his mother and Rosemary to the theatre and concerts but had otherwise barely stepped out of the Butler residence since April; and that he had acquired a couple more stallions which he was keeping on some land near the Battery. It was also by these means that she learnt something about his childhood. She learned that as an eight year old boy he was dared to pelt a crotchety old neighbour's house with one hundred eggs, which caused him to go without supper for two days; that he had broken his arm by falling out of a tree when he was nine; that he would challenge his friends to race on horseback along the river and back and that in twenty-five races he never lost; and that his father's name was Carlton and his brother's name was Ross. She learned, too, that he had always been a voracious reader and had been a keen student – although he had never cared much for how well he did in class. And she learned that it was an old paternal uncle, who was, in Eleanor's humble opinion, almost as roguish as Rhett's grandfather, who had taught Rhett to sail when he was barely twelve years old.

As she retired to bed each night, she would try and piece together the information she had gleaned from such disclosures with the handful of facts she already knew about Rhett, in the hope that it might help her better understand the man she was married to. But it only helped in part and she cringed at her lack of knowledge. She did not know why he had fallen out with his father – other than for some vague reason of disappointing him and being too like his own father. She did not know why he had been expelled from West Point. She didn't even know whether he still corresponded with his brother or whether his brother was married or had children. She knew nothing about him despite the fact she had lived with him for six years! Why had Rhett never talked about his family –especially his mother who he had always seemed fond of? Was it her fault? Did he think she wouldn't have been interested? Did he think that she was too wrapped up in her own woes to care about his own family? Several times, she had almost asked Eleanor to elaborate on some of her stories, before she had bitten her tongue and remembered her pride. She didn't want her mother-in-law to think that she held Rhett in anything other than the cool indifference he held her in and so her newly found curiosity remained unsated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the last evening of Eleanor's visit, supper was a rather more muted affair than the previous evenings. Ella, in particular, was quieter than usual and hardly ate any of the meal that Dilcey had prepared whilst Wade sat looking adoringly up at his step-grandmother and clung on to her every word. When they had finished eating, the children kissed Eleanor goodnight, leaving the women alone to sip on some tea that Dilcey had brought in.

They drank in silence and as she drained the last dregs from her teacup, Scarlett moved her chair back and pretended to yawn. She sensed that Miss Eleanor was building up to something and it unsettled her. If she went to bed now, there would be no further opportunity for her guest to question her about her marriage, as she was leaving early in the morning. "Well, Miss Eleanor," she started, stretching her shoulders back against the chair and doing yet another very bad impression of trying to stifle a yawn. "If you would please excuse me. I think I might retire to my room. I've had a long day and my bones ache from shifting stock at the store. Is there anything I can get you to make your last night here more comfortable?"

Eleanor looked up at Scarlett and smiled, the mischievous glint in her eye reappearing. "My dear Scarlett, would you mind indulging an old lady and staying up a while with me? Perhaps we can finish the pot of tea in the parlour. Or, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could pour me a small brandy and I can sip that."

Scarlett shrugged her shoulders and knew she had no choice but to acquiesce. "Of course, Miss Eleanor. I'll ring for Dilcey to help us…"

"Oh, don't bother with Dilcey. I'll carry the tea in if you can bring in the brandy and a glass. Or two glasses if you care to join me," she said, winking at Scarlett. Then, she stood up, took hold of the tray and walked out of the dining room and into the parlour, with Scarlett reluctantly trailing behind her, decanter and two glasses clasped firmly in her hands. Her stomach was already filling with knots and by the look in Eleanor's eyes she knew that the time had come for some sort of discussion about her marriage. And then a panicked thought flooded over her. Miss Eleanor wasn't about to broker some sort of divorce agreement between her and Rhett was she? Was this why she was really here? Had Rhett sent her as his emissary?

Scarlett settled herself on a settee and placed her glass down on a side table so that Eleanor wouldn't see the subtle tremors in her hands. She swallowed drily twice and then put her hands in her laps as she tried to remember all of Rhett's faults – in case she needed to reel them off. Rhett was as imperfect as she was and she would have no hesitation in telling his mother that if her hand was forced.

But Eleanor didn't seem to be preparing for a battle. Her lovely face was as devoid of tension as it had been throughout her stay and if Scarlett was forced to determine another emotion that she was displaying, she would have said her eyes carried a hint of sadness. After a while, when she had finished her tea and was already a quarter of a way through her brandy, she spoke. "I've had a wonderful stay, Scarlett. Thank you for all your hospitality. It's been a real pleasure to finally get to know you properly."

"I've enjoyed your visit," Scarlett said, as she picked up her brandy glass. "I hope you come again soon." And as she said it, she realised that she spoke the truth. "Perhaps you can bring Aunt 'Lalie next time."

"Yes," said Eleanor. "Perhaps I can." She took a sip from her glass. "Or I could bring Rhett," she added quietly.

"R…Rhett?" Scarlett said and she immediately felt her hands get all clammy. She put her glass down on the table but didn't dare look at Eleanor.

"Yes, my dear. Rhett."

"Oh Miss Eleanor. Please let's not spoil this evening, this whole week by…."

"Scarlett, please listen to me. It's not right that you are living here in Atlanta and he is living…well, I am not sure that living is the right word…that he is staying with me in Charleston."

"He made his decision, Miss Eleanor. He left me in October. As you well know," Scarlett bristled.

"And he came back in March didn't he?"

"Only because of Bonnie. Only because he wanted to be close to Bonnie on her birthday."

"Is that what he told you?"

"Yes…in kind." Scarlett cleared her throat, retook her glass and swilled a large mouthful of brandy. This was the moment she had been trying to avoid all week. She didn't want to talk about her relationship with Rhett and be reminded of her failings. She didn't want to be reminded that he had left her. And she didn't want to be reminded of his clumsy efforts of seduction a few weeks ago, when she had almost succumbed, just because he was not…how had he put it? _Overly discriminatory_ as to who shared his bed. "Miss Eleanor, thank you for all the time you have spent with Ella and Wade this week. They don't…"

"He came back earlier this month, didn't he?" Scarlett shot her a dagger look.

"Sorry…"

"He came back earlier this month and there were no birthdays to celebrate then. Or to remember."

"He came to collect the children, Miss Eleanor," said Scarlett her green eyes flashing with steel.

"How do you know?"

"I know because…because…Miss Eleanor, I just know. It had nothing to do with me," said Scarlett crossly. "If he could have avoided seeing me he would have."

"I think you're wrong," said Eleanor quietly.

"How can I be wrong? He came for the children. It was only by chance that I saw him."

Eleanor started chuckling softly. "Oh my dear, how long have you known my son? When does anything ever happen with Rhett by chance? He could have sent for the children. He didn't need to return to Atlanta. No, I learnt a long time ago that nothing Rhett ever does is by _chance_." And she laughed again.

"But…but…" Scarlett started to protest but even as she tried to object, she knew Eleanor was right. Nothing had ever happened between Rhett and her by chance, apart from their very first meeting.

Eleanor scrutinised her daughter-in-law's face as a mixture of emotions washed over it. Then, she steadied her gaze and in a hushed tone said, "You know, Scarlett, the night before he left to collect Wade and Ella, he came into my bedroom where I was reading and asked if I wouldn't mind making up the ivory bedroom – which is probably the best bedroom in the whole house as it is the quietest and has beautiful views leading down to the lower shores of the Charleston peninsula. He didn't say much other than that he told me that there might be a third guest coming to stay and it was important that _she_ was given that room. He said that he had ordered new French linens for the room which would be arriving on the Monday and asked if I could make sure the servants used that linen to make up the bed. He also asked if I could gather some jasmine and honeysuckle and put it in the bedroom. Are those your favourite flowers?"

A moment's silence fell between them. They were some of her favourite flowers but more importantly they were the flowers of Tara. Scarlett didn't say anything but continued to look suspiciously at Eleanor.

"I remember just nodding and telling him that of course I could do that. I didn't ask who it was for – I didn't need to ask who it was for. It was pretty obvious that you were the intended third guest."

Scarlett swallowed hard and felt her throat bruise. Had Rhett really intended that she accompany the children and him to Charleston? At the time, she had thought that he had only invited her because he had been forced to keep up appearances in front of Wade but now…now…She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Had he really wanted her to go to Charleston the whole time? But if that was the case, why hadn't he asked her? Why had he had to hide behind the pretence that it was Wade's idea?

Scarlett felt another lump rise in her throat and then for some unknown reason, tears pricked her eyes. Why was this revelation making her feel so sad? She had nothing to regret, had she? He had made it pretty clear that all he had wanted from her was one thing – and he could get that just as easily from Belle Watling. As he had proven. She opened her mouth to refute Eleanor's comments but then closed it as she remembered feeling at the time that he had seemed quite keen for her to accompany them. Perhaps there _was_ a modicum of truth in what Miss Eleanor was saying. In a soft whisper, she said. "Miss Eleanor, I know you know. About us that is. I know you know everything. I know that Rhett told you about…well…how we…" She still struggled to say the words, even after all these months of being alone. She still felt the acute humiliation every time she was reminded that her husband had left her and that she was practically a divorcée but more painfully that he no longer loved her. That she was a failure.

Eleanor reached across to her and patted her hand. "I don't know everything, dear Scarlett. He certainly hasn't told me everything. He's told me that things aren't…quite right between you. But that's about it. I have only been an observer and I have felt pretty powerless. He doesn't like to discuss your…erm…situation. I have tried to bring it up a number of times but he…well, let's just say, he is much better at changing the subject than you are! I have seen how miserable he is, how lost he seems, how introspective and reflective he has become – especially over the last three months or so. I have also had to guess a great deal and try and imagine what you have both been through. Especially concerning Bonnie." She paused and took in a deep breath. "I am not sure anyone can truly understand what it is like to bury a child, unless you yourself have buried a child. And I haven't. But I can see your pain – I can see both of your pain. I could see it back in August and I can still see it now, although you are much, much stronger than Rhett. Which is rather unusual – the husband is meant to be the stoic, the braver one but that's not the case with you two. Maybe that is because of everything you have gone through in the last thirteen years – it acted as some sort of preparation. What with you losing two husbands, losing both your parents, having the burden of not just your own survival but the survival of your infant son, your elderly father and many others on your shoulders. I married Carlton at the same age but my life had been full of frivolity. You married Rhett when you had already experienced more hardship than it is right for any Southern woman to experience!

"It was only when I came here in August, for Bonnie's funeral, that I fully appreciated how strong you were. There was Rhett, going crazy with grief and yet you…you...you somehow managed to cope even though I could tell by the haunted look in your eyes that the pain was cutting you. I couldn't reach out to you because I was so scared that if I left Rhett alone for more than a few minutes, he might…well, he might have done something stupid. But you! You were this wonderful pillar of strength – to Mammy, to your Aunt Pitty, to the rest of your family, to the children. The only person who you weren't strong for was Rhett. It made me weep seeing how you couldn't comfort each other when the only way you were going to get through it was to be together. You needed to share your grief. To talk. To try and understand why God sends us these trials. But instead, I could see that you weren't even able to share a civil conversation, let alone a…bed." Scarlett felt herself blush. Of course Eleanor had seen that she and Rhett were not sleeping together! Of course she had been privy first hand to the state of their relationship. Scarlett buried her head in her hands. Oh dear God, this was all too mortifying! And far too painful.

Eleanor moved onto the settee next to Scarlett and gently brushed some strands of her ebony hair that had worked loose, behind her ears. Then, in a hushed tone, she said, "It still makes me weep that you are not living together, that you aren't comforting each other, that you aren't getting through this together."

"He doesn't love me, Miss Eleanor," Scarlett said quietly. Eleanor didn't say anything but just put her arm round Scarlett's shoulders. "He…he…doesn't!" Scarlett hiccoughed.

"Has he said that to you?"

"Yes," whispered Scarlett, remembering, not just his parting words to her that October night but his subsequent reiterations. "On more than one occasion."

"Has it ever occurred to you that he could be wrong?"

Scarlett snorted, her eyes beginning to stream. "Rhett is never wrong, Miss Eleanor. Not on things like this. And, after this time apart, when I have had plenty of time to reflect on my own contribution to the state of our marriage…I wonder how he ever fell in love with me in the first place…"

Eleanor emitted a derisory chuckle "Oh my dear. How can you say that? What a ridiculous thing to say! You're beautiful, smart, elegant, practical…Southern…" Scarlett raised her eyebrows. "He was crazy about you. For years and years and years…"

"Yes. I know. I know now. But I used all his love up. That's what he said. And I can understand how although I…I…didn't _know_ he loved me."

"How did you not know? Wasn't it obvious?"

"He never told me, Miss Eleanor. I asked him a couple of times but he denied it and I believed him. I wasn't even sure why he married me other than…" She stopped herself and felt heat rise on her cheeks. She didn't need to tell his mother all her thoughts.

Eleanor looked across at her daughter-in-law. She saw Scarlett's eyes mist over with tears, and a few silently trickle down her high cheekbones. She saw her bite her lip, saw how she twisted her wedding ring round and round aimlessly on her third finger and her heart ached. Instinctively, she leaned in towards her and took her in her arms and as she did that, Scarlett suddenly burst into tears. Noisy, unremitting tears that made her whole body judder. Scarlett felt Eleanor squeeze her harder which precipitated another bout of sobbing. Perhaps if she cried and cried and cried, the pain she still felt over everything would dissipate. Oh, it felt so good to be in the warm arms of someone who cared about her! It had been so, so long since she had had such human comfort, not since Melly had held her after Bonnie had died. Mammy had done her best but Mammy's own regard for her station had always stopped her holding her mistress for longer than a few seconds.

After a while, Scarlett's crying subsided and Eleanor dabbed her eyes before handing her the handkerchief. "Scarlett," she said quietly. "I don't believe that Rhett's love for you has died. Whatever he might have said. I think it might be dormant but I can't believe that someone who loved you as he loved you has suddenly stopped loving you. It makes no sense to me." Scarlett looked up from the white piece of monogramed cloth she was holding and was about to launch into a counterargument, but something in Eleanor's demeanour stopped her.

"I've wanted to say this for a long time. Even before I finally met you – or at least met you for the second time - but when I knew that you and Rhett weren't…how can I say this? When you and Rhett weren't living together as husband and wife. When I could see – or rather could hear – that something was wrong with your marriage.

"Rhett was always…different. Even when he was a small boy, he had this unwavering self-confidence and it used to infuriate his father. And he was clever too. He used to read everything he could get his hands on and then would use his knowledge to outsmart his father. He used to get in to all manners of scrapes but he had this uncanny ability to charm everyone so that even the old ladies, who should have been mad at him for the pranks he had played on them, forgot why they were angry with him.

"But Carlton never had any patience with Rhett. He couldn't understand why Rhett deliberately tried to flout the code of the South, especially when Ross was the total opposite, was so….good…and never did anything that was…_unSouthern_. There was only eighteen months between the boys but they were like chalk and cheese. Ross was like Carlton. Not just in the way he looked and spoke but in his personality too. But Rhett…Rhett was like Carlton's father and Carlton's wayward brother, Stephen. Which wasn't a good thing. Or at least that was what Carlton thought." Eleanor paused for a moment and reached for her glass which she had put on the small occasional table that was adjacent to the settee. She took a sip of brandy but didn't take her eyes off her daughter-in-law. Scarlett was transfixed and hardly dare breathe. This was the information she had wanted from Eleanor but had been too afraid to ask and now, Eleanor was freely telling her.

"As he entered adulthood, he seemed to care less and less about what society thought about him. In fact, I think he went out of his way to develop a reputation as a bit of a…" She temporarily paused as though she was trying to conjure up a word that wasn't too much of a betrayal. "…rascal. You see, he didn't get on with his father and their relationship was only exacerbated by Carlton's obvious favouritism towards Ross. Ross was the apple of Carlton's eye. Everything Ross did, Carlton approved of, everything that Rhett did, Carlton found fault with. As he got older, Rhett didn't need to be quite outrageous as he was but I think he acted as he did to try and…spite…Carlton. And when Rhett was expelled from West Point, Carlton was so angry that he told the servants to put all of Rhett's belongings on the doorstep and not to let him back in the house. Rhett came back a few days later and Carlton refused to open the front door even to speak to him, instead preferring to holler through a side window. I found the whole episode not just upsetting but embarrassing too – because I knew that all the neighbours could hear. Carlton told Rhett that, from thenceforth he was no son of his, that he had inked out his name in the family bible and that Carlton would never acknowledge him in public again. And Rhett…Rhett…he just stood there. And then he laughed, a hollow, hurt laugh, a chilling laugh, before he picked up an old pack of playing cards and some boots and, for some reason, a cravat and left. I was standing in the parlour, watching and listening and when he walked away, I wondered if I would ever see him again. He was eighteen years old.

"When he came back to Charleston five years later, he stayed in the Battery Carriage Hotel. I heard whisperings that he was back but he didn't come to the house and I daren't go – at least not initially. So, one night, I told Carlton that I was going over to a reading evening that one of my friends was hosting, but instead I slipped out to the hotel and saw Rhett. He looked so…well, so handsome. He had lost the skinny look he had had when I had last seen him and had developed into a very fine looking man. We spent a lovely evening together but he made it clear he was not interested in any attempts by me to try and broker a reconciliation between him and his father. He asked me to bring Rosemary next time – which I did. We spent many lovely evenings in his hotel suite, playing cards, reminiscing, reading together but then his father found out and all hell broke loose. And I realised that I had to stop seeing Rhett. So I didn't see him again for another two years or so although I managed to smuggle letters to him. He drifted in and out of Charleston in between sailing to England and France and visiting Spain and going to the Caribbean." She paused as the memories and her pride for her son washed over her. "He is a wonderful sailor.

"The next time I saw him was on a street. He was escorting a lovely young girl to a dance and I was coming back from decorating our local church with flowers. He didn't say anything to me but his eyes pleaded with me to visit him. And so, I did. Two days later, when Carlton had gone away for a few days to visit one of his brothers in Savannah. It was obviously easier slipping out of the house when Carlton wasn't there." She stopped for a moment as she collected her thoughts. "You mustn't think…ill of Carlton. He wasn't a bad man, he was just obstinate and set in his ways, like someone else we both know, and he had wanted his eldest son to follow his lead. He also wanted Rhett to settle down with a nice Southern girl, have a family, stop gallivanting round the world and stop socialising with Stephen in New Orleans. Stephen was unmarried and rather _unconventional_ and Carlton thought he was a bad influence on Rhett. I still harboured some hope that perhaps, in time, Rhett and Carlton might work out their differences – if they could meet each other half way. But then that whole scandal blew up about the Turner girl and I knew then that their relationship was beyond repair."

"The Turner girl?" Scarlett queried, wondering if she was the girl that had been at the centre of the scandal that Cathleen Calvert had whispered to her about at the last Twelve Oaks barbeque.

"Yes, Rosie…Rosemary…Rosalind Turner. I think that was her name. It was such a long time ago. Rhett had taken her out on a carriage ride and because they got lost and he didn't drop her home until after dark, he was expected to marry her! Even I could see how silly an idea that was but Carlton….hmmm. To him, Rhett had disgraced the daughter of one of his most trusted friends and he thought that Rhett had done it deliberately." Eleanor suddenly laughed and then winked at Scarlett. "Perhaps he did. We all know what a scoundrel he is." Eleanor took a sip from her glass. "It was perfectly obvious that Rosalind and Rhett were utterly unsuited. She would have bored him before they had even eaten the first course of their wedding breakfast. It would have been a disaster. But Carlton didn't see it like that. He actually summoned Rhett to the house and they had this almighty row and Carlton said it was about time that Rhett got married and that he was thirty years old and it was time to stop fraternising with…" She abruptly stopped, mid-sentence. "Well, anyway, you can imagine what Rhett thought of being dictated to like _that._" She chuckled softly. "Rhett said he saw no reason to get married and be saddled with one woman for the rest of his life and that there was more to life than settling down.

"That was the last time they spoke. They never made up, even when Carlton was dying, his stubbornness prevented him from reaching out to Rhett. And Rhett…Rhett…he wasn't without blame either and I think deep down would have liked to make some sort of peace with his father. But he never quite had the…what's the word?...courage…to breach the chasm between them.

"After the whole Rosalind Turner debacle, Rhett was seldom in Charleston. He had scandalised most of my friends and he wasn't welcome at any dances or parties any more. And so he moved to New Orleans for a while to stay with, Carlton's brother. But after a few months, he seemed to get bored even of that life so he started sailing again. First to Europe and then to north Africa. It was as though he was searching for something - he couldn't stay still. Then, almost with the click of his fingers, he stopped travelling - or at least stopped going away for such prolonged periods – and the next thing I knew, he had taken up residence in Atlanta. Atlanta! I couldn't understand it at the time but now of course, now I do. It was because of you. He didn't want to be too far away from you."

"M...m…me?" stuttered Scarlett.

"Yes. It was at the beginning of the second year of the war and…you were living in Atlanta then, weren't you?"

"Yes…but…"

"So he had met you and had fallen in love with you."

"Oh Miss Eleanor! How you do run on! Rhett wasn't in love with me then."

"Oh yes he was."

"Did he tell you that he was?"

"He didn't have to. I could tell. His letters were full of what he had been doing socially in Atlanta – the Rhett I knew didn't normally while away an afternoon at an old maid's house, unless there was a fair maiden there who had caught his eye - and when he visited me, he was so much lighter and there was this twinkle in his eye. But of course he didn't tell me about you and when I gently probed if perhaps a lady had taken his heart, he just laughed mischievously and told me that I would be the first to know if that was the case. But he stopped short of denying my accusation which made me realise that he was in love!" Eleanor chuckled.

"This went on for a year or so and, then, out of the blue, he came to visit me just before Atlanta fell in early summer of 1864. I remember I got this message from one of my old friends that he was in town and wanted me to meet him for supper at an old dilapidated house he was staying in. It was by the Ashley River - I got bitten to death by mosquitoes and…anyway, I am digressing. I was desperate to see Rhett – the whole South was becoming increasingly dangerous and I worried for his safety so I laced Carlton's meal with brandy so that he would sleep – and then I rode over to the river. He was waiting for me and he had cooked me a delicious meal of fish and vegetables. We sat under the moonlight, drinking some wine and for once I didn't talk about the war or which of his old childhood friends had died. Instead, we reminisced about happier times and he told me about his trips to Nassau and London and Paris.

"Then, I remember he became all quiet and serious. We were talking about how the South was changing, how we were never going to win the war. And then he dropped the bombshell on me and told me he was going to enlist. Well, after almost three years of refusing to join The Cause, you can imagine how shocked I was! He asked me not to tell his father or Rosemary or his brother Ross. I asked him when he was going to enlist and he told me that he couldn't be sure but it would probably not be for three of four months.

"The whole thing made no sense to me. If he had decided to enlist why wasn't he going to enlist straight away? And why had he changed his mind after so long mocking The Cause? It was then that he told me about you.

"Maybe it was the wine that loosened his tongue, maybe it was the realisation that he was playing with death, that there was a real possibility that he might die on a battlefield, but he told me that he had met someone who he wanted to marry although he couldn't be sure that she would want to marry him. When I pressed him on why he wasn't sure, he refused to elaborate but…" Her voice trailed off and she cast her eyes down towards her lap. Scarlett looked at her but her head remained low. Of course! Eleanor Butler knew of Scarlett's blind infatuation with Ashley – how could Rhett have told her anything about the demise of their marriage without telling her that salient fact! Scarlett felt herself blush and she shifted awkwardly in her seat. If only, she could change history, if only she could have seen that her infatuation with Ashley was just that – an infatuation. Not a real love. Certainly nothing like what she felt, unfortunately, for her husband.

"Miss Eleanor, I feel as though I must explain…" Scarlett started and Eleanor lifted her head.

"What is there to explain my dear? You had lost your husband, you had Wade. Why would you want to put yourself through all that grief again over my son? It was perfectly natural for you to have been cautious pledging yourself once again to a man who certainly lived a dangerous life at times and was about to enlist." Scarlett began to unclench her hand as Eleanor's words travelled to her ears. Did her mother-in-law really not know about her destructive obsession about Ashley? How it had ruined her marriage to her son? Or was she just being kind and pretending that it had never happened?

"But I…"

"Dear Scarlett, I understand. Really, don't trouble yourself. Perhaps it's because I'm a woman too but when he told me that you were a widow…"

"He told you about me?"

"Well, I had to extract it rather forcefully from him! You know Rhett. He keeps most of his cards to his chest. But I plied him with another glass of wine and when I asked him to tell me about this lady whom he had met, he started to divulge a few facts. Although he was always careful to keep you nameless. In retrospect, I understand why. You have a rather…unusual…name and of course, your dear aunt, Eulalie, is one of my closest friends. And I had met you before."

"Met me before?"

"Why yes. When you came to Charleston after you had just had Wade. I was at one of the afternoon teas that your aunt Eulalie hosted in your honour. If I had known that you were the woman that had stolen my son's heart, I would have told him not to delay and to propose right away!" She laughed again.

"What…what…did he tell you about me?" Scarlett said, her voice so soft that if there had been anyone else in the room, Eleanor would have struggled to hear the question.

Eleanor Butler took a sip of brandy and smiled. "He told me that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever met…"

Scarlett smirked. "That's not what he told me. He told me that he had met plenty of more beautiful women than me."

Eleanor smiled. "Rhett isn't always good at giving compliments directly my dear. Surely you have discovered that by now." She shook her head and her smile broadened. "No Scarlett, he told me that you were beautiful but that you were smart too, funny, charming…" Scarlett swallowed. When had Rhett ever thought her charming or funny? Surely they weren't the adjectives he would have used to describe her. Scarlett frowned but Eleanor continued. "He said that you were the only woman he had met in his entire life that he could imagine marrying." Eleanor paused and, looking directly at Scarlett, added. "And having children with."

"Rhett wanted children with me?" Scarlett whispered.

"Of course he wanted children with you! Don't most men want children?"

"Do they?" Scarlett asked. "I mean…I know that Charles wanted children and Frank was desperate for me to have a baby but Rhett? He seemed so indifferent to me having his child. Not that we didn't both love Bonnie but…in some ways…well…" Scarlett's voice trailed off as she thought back to that day she had found out she was pregnant, when she had stormed into their bedroom full of hate towards her husband and the baby growing inside of her. He had sat there, absorbing her wrath, barely uttering a word until suddenly he had come alive when he had thought she had done something to rid herself of her pregnancy. He had seemed so…so…indifferent to whether she gave him a child or not and stupidly, she had taken his indifference on its face. Now, for the first time, on hearing his mother's words, Scarlett realised how he had once again, managed to disguise his true feelings. He had wanted children with her. He had always wanted children with her. He had just had a strange way of showing it. And then she thought back to her accident and the initial look on his face when she had told him of her fourth pregnancy. Those were his true feelings! It had been a look of joy and excitement even though he had desperately and quickly tried to pull on his usual bland mask. How had she been so obtuse? If only she hadn't tried to protect herself from his insults! If only he hadn't tried to do the same! They might yet have been a family, even with Bonnie's death.

Scarlett bit her lip and willed the tears away that were once again welling up in her eyes.

"I think he wanted you to be the mother of his children. He wanted them to have your spirit, your passion, your beauty. Despite all his protests to the contrary, I think he did want what most Southern men want – he wanted a wife and family. He just wanted to make sure that it was with the right woman and with someone he loved. Certainly not that silly Rosalind!

"Well, after dropping _two _bombshells on me, he left later that night but before he did so he asked if I would do something for him. He took out a ring from his pocket – a beautiful solitaire emerald which had belonged to his grandmother – Carlton's mother. Apparently, Stephen had given it to him when he had last seen him in New Orleans, just before he had died. Rhett had a small piece of cotton too and he said that the ring had to be re-sized to the size of the cotton for that was the size of her…your…ring finger."

"How on earth did he get my ring size?" asked Scarlett bemused.

"How on earth does Rhett do many things, my dear?" But as Eleanor took another sip from her glass, Scarlett suddenly realised how he could have done it. She remembered how she would frequently take off Charlie's wedding rings and leave them in a glass dish on top of Aunt Pitty's piano, if she was going to the hospital. And then she remembered how on more than one occasion, she would come home from her medical chores to find Rhett already waiting for her at the Peachtree Street house, entertaining Aunt Pitty. He must have sized up her rings on one of those occasions, she thought.

"So, I took the ring and he told me he would write to me as soon as he had proposed – although he warned me that he would only propose if he could be sure she…you.. would say yes. And so I went to your aunt Pauline's jeweller – I couldn't go to the Butler jeweller as he would have suspected something – and got the ring prepared and then I waited. And waited. And waited. And of course no news was forthcoming. So, I wrote to him at the National but I got no response. When I heard that Atlanta had been sacked, I realised he must have left Atlanta and had probably already enlisted. I put the lack of news down to that. But even when the war had ended, I still heard nothing from him. For nearly six months. Finally, I got a letter from him – dull, factual, telling me that he was alive and that he was travelling and so I thought that he must be travelling to find you.

"He never spoke about you again – or at least, not until he told me he had married you – and if it hadn't been for the ring he had asked me to re-size, I would have thought that I had dreamt the whole conversation. When he came back for Carlton's funeral , he seemed defeated somehow, low spirited – and Rhett had never been like that before. I now realise that you must have married your second husband and that you were probably pregnant with Ella and that he thought he had lost you. He talked about travelling back to London in the spring and maybe even living there for a while. But something must have made him change his mind because he didn't go and, straight after the funeral, he was back living in Atlanta."

Eleanor finished her drink and looked at Scarlett. It was as though she was waiting for Scarlett to say something but she didn't quite know what to say. What was there to say really? Everything was in the past and the past couldn't be re-written. Finally, she asked the questions that had been troubling her for days.

"Miss Eleanor, why didn't you come to our wedding? Why didn't you come to Bonnie's christening? Why didn't you come and visit us?"

Eleanor shook her head, sadly. "Rhett didn't _tell _me about your wedding. Until after it had happened. He has never told me anything about it."

"That's probably because there's not much to tell," Scarlett said, suddenly wanting to defend Rhett. "It was a very small affair, Miss Eleanor. None of my family came - or at least none of my blood family. Melanie and Ashley were there as was Aunt Pitty and Uncle Henry…Uncle Henry gave me away. We just got married in Aunt Pitty's parlour by Father Benedict one Wednesday afternoon." Scarlett smiled at the memory. "Of course, Rhett would have preferred that we get married in the local courthouse but I couldn't really get married by anyone other than a priest. Mother and Pa would have turned in their graves! It was all very simple, deliberately so. I had already scandalised much of society by renouncing my widow weeds so quickly. I didn't want to draw too much attention to our wedding by hosting a big party."

"Well, that makes me feel better. I always felt rather…hurt…that I hadn't been invited." Eleanor slumped back into the plush cushions on the settee and she stifled a yawn. Scarlett was tired, too, but she wasn't quite ready to go to bed. Not just yet. There were still some questions she wanted answering.

"Miss Eleanor…why…why didn't you come and visit us? You didn't even come for Bonnie's christening. I always thought that you must…disapprove of me…or that Rhett had told you that I…" She stopped herself again. Perhaps Rhett _hadn't_ told his mother about Ashley. But why hadn't she come and stayed? Surely it would have been the most natural thing in the world?

Eleanor stifled another yawn and brought her left hand up to her face. "Goodness, why did you think I wouldn't approve of you? Apart from being my beloved friend's niece, you were Rhett's wife!" She shuffled forward on the settee. "Darling, I was going to come to Bonnie's christening but I got sick. I had a bad case of influenza – my doctor thought it was pneumonia at one point – and I was bedridden for over a month. But I did come and visit – a couple of times. Only for a few days though – and you were always away at Tara." Both women looked at each other, Eleanor's face all crumpled up with confusion. "I wonder why Rhett arranged it like that? It seems odd, now that I think about it."

But as Scarlett digested the words, she suddenly knew why Rhett had orchestrated his mother's visits at times when she was absent. He hadn't want her to see his own failure. He hadn't wanted her to see that they were sleeping in separate rooms and he also hadn't wanted her to hear from the local gossips that their marriage was rapidly unravelling. Rhett was many things but above everything he was proud.

"Scarlett," Eleanor whispered. "Do you _still_ think he doesn't love you?"

Scarlett bit her lip and then covered her eyes with her hands. Everything was a jumbled mess. Did she think that Rhett still loved her? She had certainly felt more _hopeful_ about him loving her again tonight than she had in the previous nine months. But he had been so sure! Why had he had to repeatedly remind her he didn't love her in April? Why had he spent the night with that _whore_ in June? "I…I…don't know, Miss Eleanor. I don't know anything anymore. But I know that he left me. That he's not here with me now. That he didn't want to try again either in October or in April."

"I think he left you because he was still grieving for Bonnie. He was still in too much pain, that suffocating, drowning pain. I think he felt that he had to get away to even have a chance of surviving. I think that he was so numb over Bonnie that he couldn't feel anything – not even for you, my dear. But being away from you…over the last few months…whether he realises it or not…I don't think he can live without you. He misses you."

"Why do you say that?" said Scarlett, quietly.

"Why do I say that? Because he can't stop talking about you! It wasn't like that at first, not when he first came to stay with me in October, but over the months, you have become his favourite topic of conversation! And even when he goes all quiet and contemplative, I can tell he is thinking about you. He is in a limbo and if only one of you was prepared to take a chance on the other…"

"I am, Miss Eleanor. He knows that. But…"

"Forgive me for saying this, Scarlett, but you are both too stubborn. One of you has to give in and force the other to try again." Eleanor paused as she retook Scarlett's hand. "Please don't give up on him. I know he isn't the…easiest…person to live with but if you can't live with him, then I am at a loss as to know who could! Who else would be able to put up with his moods? With his temper? Oh, he hides it very well, but I know how cruel he can be. I might be his mother but I'm not blind. I often wondered who he would end up marrying– if he married at all – but having spent these last few days with you, I can see that he was right all along. You are the only woman for him." Scarlett felt her eyes get all watery and she turned away. "If I…" Eleanor cleared her throat and then with her left hand gently brought Scarlett's head round to face her. "Scarlett, my dear…if I asked you to come and visit _me_, would you come? With the children of course."

"I'd…I'd…think about it," Scarlett said in a hushed, broken tone. "I would need some time though."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to ask you just yet. But perhaps at the end of the summer, when it's not quite so hot…when you've had some time to think..." Scarlett nodded, her emotions, like an eddy inside her. She needed to be alone. She had had enough revelations tonight and she was tired. She wanted to go to bed.

"Miss Eleanor, it's getting late and you have a long day of travelling tomorrow. I think it's best if we both go to bed."

"I quite agree my dear," and they both stood up. Suddenly, Eleanor sat down again and reached for her large reticule, that she had tucked behind the side table. "I almost forgot. I've been carrying this around all day, trying to find the right moment to give it to you." She pulled out an oblong shape, swathed in silks and velvets. "Rhett had asked me to put this in the ivory bedroom for our special third guest! When you didn't come, I thought I should bring it to you. He bought it in Paris in May." She handed it to Scarlett and Scarlett took it. As Scarlett felt it beneath the cloths, her breath caught in her throat. Surely it wasn't…? It was years old and already rare…how had he….?

She tentatively unfolded the layers of fabric before revealing the present. It was an identical carriage clock to that which she had thrown out of the window in April. She had known all along that it had been him that had collected the scattered shards. She turned it over and as she did so, a small card fell out of the folds. It floated down to the floor and Scarlett bent to pick it up. In his unmistakeable hand he had written: _Not all things can be fixed, but new things can be found._

_Too long? Sorry if some of you would prefer I update One Night - but I want to finish this first. I can see the end in sight. I know some people think that this story has dragged but my take on both Scarlett and Rhett is that they are both pretty depressed and you can't just fix that and their relationship in ten or even (in my case) twenty chapters. But we are getting there…_

_And Aunt Pitty (if you are still out there) – of course, all those chapters ago (chapter 16), you guessed right. Pretty obvious I know that Rhett had picked up the broken clock. But isn't GWTW also so obvious at times?!_

_BTW – if people want complete GWTW stories that are not too long – two of my favourites apart from Ondine's The Fall – are "To Whom it may Concern" by Ieyre (amazing and funny!) and BloodyMary's "Pugnaciously drunk" (though that is a M rating!)_


	30. Chapter 30

_Massive - huge - thanks to Dixie who helped me with this. It helps having fresh eyes to look over a clunky chapter. And to LawdyMissScarlett and Ondine too. Thanks also for all you wonderful reviewers, for honesty too (Festinale – tried to make Scarlett less tiresome). Thanks Wolka for the prodding and the guest reviewers for prodding too…And for Alison too._

_Sorry for the delay. This isn't quite the drama I promised – sorry. I wanted to get this posted though as otherwise I might well lose steam and never finish this (although am so thrilled that DreamGWTW has been posting again after almost 2 years…). Still 4 or 5 more chapters left and then we are done. _

Chapter 30

When Scarlett awoke the day after Eleanor Butler had left Atlanta, her mind was already made up. If Rhett wasn't going to come to see her in Atlanta, she would go to Charleston to see him. And however painful it would be if he rejected her, she would at least know once and for all where she stood with him. She needed to escape her limbo which was fast becoming purgatory.

Scarlett began to plan her trip to Charleston with meticulous precision. This was her last chance, his last chance – _their_ last chance - and she didn't want to rush things. So, on one of the few occasions in her life, she was going to act with restraint, even though, when Miss Eleanor had left, and with her words and stories still ringing in her ears, Scarlett had wanted to jump on the very same train that her mother-in-law was taking back to South Carolina. But she would go on her terms – not as a consequence of some contrived invitation from Eleanor. And when she did venture there, she would do so with elegance and veiled indifference. And whilst she was in Charleston, she would prove to her husband that he could have a life tempered with calm dignity and genial grace and he could have that life with her.

Heeding Eleanor's words and mindful of the note he had attached to the carriage clock, she was quietly hopeful that, whatever his previous protestations, he did want to try again with her. And that was all she wanted - the _opportunity_ – something he had failed to give her when he had walked out on her after Melly's funeral. And if…if…Miss Eleanor had misinterpreted the reasons behind his low mood, and if she had read too much into the preparation of the ivory bedroom and if his attempts at seduction in June really had been because of easy opportunity, then she would retreat back to Atlanta with her head held high and set them both free by asking Uncle Henry to draft up a formal separation.

Her planning took days that then became weeks. Apart from wanting to avoid any sniff of desperation on her part and wanting to be in Atlanta for the first anniversary of Bonnie's death at the end of August, she just needed time. With a renewed vigour, she set about tearing down the velvet coverings on the hall and dining room walls and ripping up the thick, crimson carpeting and replacing the former with plaster, painted in soft golds, honeydews and magnolia and the latter with panelled oak and Persian rugs. When Wade complained one day that the dust and debris was making him sneeze and then asked why she was turning their house into a building site, she laughed at his impudence and told him it was because she had to keep up with the latest fashions and the old décor had become tired. But what she was really doing was preparing the house in case her husband returned. Because if he did, she didn't want them to live surrounded by the suffocating décor infused with bad memories and lingering unhappiness.

She also started to plan and purchase a new wardrobe that befitted a proper, Southern lady. However much she adored vibrant colours, sweeping necklines and outrageous bustles, she knew that such attire would be frowned upon in Charleston and whilst she didn't care for the dull, unfashionable clothes that she knew the Charleston ladies would wear, she was determined to fit in for the duration of her stay. Her only indulgence would be an emerald evening gown, cut low and which clung to her curves, that she had had specially commissioned from a dress shop on Little Peachtree Street and that she would wear to supper if she ever found herself alone with her husband. Green had always been the colour that suited her best and, if she thought about it, it was the colour that Rhett had always been weakest around her– from their first meeting at Twelve Oaks when she had worn that luscious, green sprigged hooped muslin, to the time she had visited him in jail in green velvet, fashioned out of her mother's portieres and then the night of Ashley's fateful birthday party, when he had forced her to wear that beautiful jade-green watered silk gown, after which he had finally lost his self-control.

One morning, in mid-August, she found herself in Uncle Henry's offices. She had received a note from him the previous evening, asking her to appear at his place of work at nine o'clock the next day. It had been the last thing she had wanted to do after a hectic few days of flitting between the store and the house trying to supervise Hugh (who was without the guiding hand of Emma for a few days) and the workmen but Uncle Henry was probably the one person in her life that she would not dare to disobey.

So, bemused and frustrated by his summons, she forwent her usual expedition to the store and went to see him. He had barely even ushered her into his musty office, before he dropped his thunderbolt. "I've sold your jewellery. And I've deposited fifty thousand dollars into your bank account." He snapped a heavy ledger shut and a puff of dust was thrown into the air.

Scarlett felt as though she was going to faint. "Fifty thousand…?" she said, before she instinctively placed a hand on her churning stomach. She hadn't expected this news. With all the taut emotion she had experienced during Miss Eleanor's visit and then afterwards, she had completely forgotten that she had handed her jewellery to her Uncle.

"I…I…" she stuttered. Her hands suddenly felt all clammy and her legs shook. She availed herself of the old leather chair opposite Uncle Henry's desk. "Who would pay…?" She shook her head. That was more money than she had ever expected. About three or four times more than she had expected! "I had no idea that the jewellery was worth that much. I know that Rhett always liked to buy the best but…" her voice trailed her off. All that money! But all her jewellery gone too! All her beautiful, beautiful jewellery. Oh, she had been too hasty! And she hadn't even needed to sell it all. She hadn't really needed to sell any of it!

As she digested the news, she thought of the more unusual and precious pieces. The beautiful butterfly hair pin that Rhett had bought for her during the War. The diamond earbobs Rhett had given to her when Bonnie had been born. Her engagement ring! Yes, it was vulgar, ostentatious and far too impractical to wear as a ring but it had been beautiful. And then the diamond necklace which he had given to her on the eve of their wedding, when he had slipped in to Aunt Pitty's house, purportedly to check on last minute arrangements but really, she had always surmised, to check up on her. He had found her on her own; Melly had been out with Aunt Pitty and had taken the children with her. She hadn't wanted to see him but he had refused to leave until she told him what was troubling her. And when she finally confessed she was nervous about him and their impending wedding night, instead of being met with merciless ribbing, he had taken her in his arms and told her that she had to learn to trust him and that he would be gentle with her and that it would be a journey for both of them. Then he had given her the necklace and told her that he hoped that each diamond – there were fifty of them – would end up representing one year of their marriage.

"Scarlett?" Uncle Henry said as she put her head in her hands.

"Sorry, Uncle Henry, you were saying…?"

"You can continue your renovations to the house, Scarlett, without worrying about money."

"Yes…I suppose I can…" she managed to say, before she collapsed her head into the cushion of her hands.

"You are pleased aren't you? It's a handsome sum."

"Yes…I..." she stammered. "Did the gentleman who you sold them to…did he take everything?" she asked meekly, silently hoping that there might be one crumb, one gem remaining from her jewellery collection.

"Yes, he took everything," said Henry with a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

Scarlett grimaced. "Who bought the jewellery, Uncle Henry?" she said suddenly wondering if she could go and buy a few pieces back.

Henry raised his eyebrows and for a moment, Scarlett thought that she saw a smile flicker across his face but when she looked again his usual gruff demeanour was back. "I can't reveal his identity other than to say the person who bought it was a silly fool. Personally, I have never understood what women see in jewellery. Or why men buy so much for their wives. It's all a waste of money." He stood up. "Now, I am sorry to seem rude, but I have quite a few meetings today, and I have my first client waiting, so if you…"

"Yes, yes…of course," said Scarlett as she rose from her chair, running her hands down her skirt, and feeling disheartened and vaguely nauseous. What if Rhett did return to her? How would she ever explain this to him? Oh dear God, what had she done?

"I'll see you on Sunday, Scarlett."

"Yes. Sunday," and then catching his disapproving stare and impatient frown, she muttered, "Thank you, Uncle Henry. Thank you," before she leaned in to kiss him goodbye.

Scarlett saw herself out and stood on the stoop, allowing her lungs to take in the fresh air. Despite the reasonably early hour, the streets were already bustling with activity and as she was in no mood to return to the house or visit the store, she started to meander along the street, quickly becoming swallowed up in the throng.

She walked down Peachtree Street, squinting from the morning sun and saw the bulk of Maybelle Picard in the distance. She was walking towards her, shrouded in a large shawl, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible despite her evident pregnancy. Scarlett grimaced and snuck into Mrs Simmons' haberdashery shop and only came out when Maybelle had passed. She wasn't quite in the mood to deal with Maybelle.

By eleven o'clock, Scarlett was feeling hungry. The aroma of Mrs Merriwether's bakery wafted past her as she swept by and for a moment she hesitated but then her obstinacy got the better of her. Mrs Merriwether was Maybelle's mother and if she patronised her shop she might as well be telling Maybelle that she forgave her for her betrayal. And she wasn't quite ready to do that – if she ever would be. Instead, she picked up her stride and headed in the direction of Five Points, and then to the corner of Spring Street and Marietta Street, where a new hotel complete with a luxurious tea room had opened up.

She walked in and settled herself by a window and ordered some tea and a piece of cake. As she waited for her tea, she removed from her reticule a letter she had received earlier in the morning from Carreen. Usually, there was no real news in Carreen's letters but today's letter had been slightly different - she had written that she had managed to persuade the Mother Superior to allow her a day release in order to visit Aunt Eulalie who was recovering from a mild dose of influenza. "And you would never guess who was there with her. Mrs Butler, my dearest sister!" Carreen had written. "And what a wonderful and charming lady she is! She told me she had spent a week with you in Atlanta and was full of admiration of you." Scarlett was so absorbed in the content of the letter that she had failed to notice a tall, dark haired man stroll into the tea room and walk over to where she was sitting.

"Mrs Butler?"

Scarlett looked up quickly, startled by the familiar voice. She felt herself blush as she locked eyes with Jack Picard. There was something very attractive, very masculine about him and as he smiled at her, she remembered his unanswered invitation to go on a carriage ride with him.

"Jack," she stammered as her heart began to beat quicker. Quickly, she glanced around to see who was present. The tea room was busy but not with members of the Old Guard. It was too new for them, too frivolous. Was he going to sit down in the empty seat opposite her or was he meeting someone else in here?

He answered her question by taking the vacant seat. He was as presumptuous as someone else she knew, she thought as she tucked her letter away. "I hope you don't mind if I sit here," he said, flashing his winning smile and knowing that he wouldn't care if she did mind.

"No. Of course not," Scarlett said, gently shaking her head.

"I haven't seen you in quite a while, Scarlett," he said. "In fact, I would wager I haven't seen you since I asked you to accompany me on a carriage ride. Have you been avoiding me?"

Scarlett felt the colour rise to her cheeks again and silently cursed him for his directness. "No….I…" She stopped. "I had a guest in town."

"So I heard. She made quite an impression. On everyone it seems."

Scarlett leaned closer towards him, uncertain as to who might be eavesdropping. "It made things…difficult. I couldn't just up and leave and tell her that I was going on a carriage ride with a man who wasn't my husband."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

"I couldn't have!" she reiterated. "What would she have thought? What would Atlanta have thought?"

"Didn't you use to ride in a carriage with Captain Butler when you were married to someone else?"

"Yes. But I…well…" She paused, trying to think of why it had been different but knowing that for some reason it had been. Perhaps it was because, then, she hadn't cared what people had thought or hadn't been _able_ to care what people had thought. Perhaps it was because it was the only way she knew how to stay safe whilst trying to carry on with her business and ensure she never went hungry again. Or perhaps it was because she knew that Rhett would never have taken "no" for an answer and it hadn't been worth fighting him. "I…" Scarlett began again.

"Anyway, hasn't she been gone for four weeks or so?" Jack interrupted. His eyes flashed with dark amusement.

Scarlett furrowed her brow, annoyed that he seemed to know so much about her daily life. "Yes she has. But I've been busy redecorating the house. And running the store. Emma was off sick for a while – the doctor ordered bed rest."

Just at that moment, Scarlett's refreshments were brought to her table, along with a steaming pot of coffee. Jack took the coffee and poured himself a cup, dropped a cube of sugar in it and stirred the liquid. Then he spoke, his voice soft and seductive. "So, Scarlett, now that your guest has left and Emma is back at the store, will you take me up on my invitation."

Scarlett put the scalding cup down and looked at him. She felt as though she was on some kind of precipice. She liked him, he was kind and she felt uncomfortably – and confusingly - attracted to him. And whilst he wasn't the man she was in love with – now that she knew what love was - he was a man she felt she could fall in love with. She cleared her throat nervously. "Jack…you see…"

"No. I don't see. And that's the problem." His voice was even and his eyes bored into her, challenging her. "I like you and at times I think you like me."

"Of course I like you!"

"You know what I mean though, don't you Scarlett?"

Scarlett blanched. She did know what he meant and the thought made her judder – with fear, outrage but also a strange feeling of excitement. Where was this conversation going? "I'm married, Jack," she mumbled. "Perhaps, if I wasn't, perhaps then…"

"Are you really married, in all senses of the word?" Scarlett swallowed and felt colour flush to her cheeks. What was he implying? How dare he ask her such an impertinent question!

"I'm not exactly sure what you mean, Jack," Scarlett snapped back.

"Oh, I think you do." He put his coffee cup down. "If I had a wife like you, I wouldn't leave you for weeks, months. Hell, I wouldn't even leave you for a day if I could help it."

"You don't understand, Jack," said Scarlett quietly, surprised at the ferocity in his tone.

"No, I don't. I wish I did but…" He looked out of the window before he returned his gaze to the woman in front of him. "Scarlett, I've never cared too much for convention but I have cared about people's happiness. Are you happy here in Atlanta?"

"Why I..." This wasn't a question she had ever considered before and for a moment her thoughts were jumbled. "I'm not _un_happy. I have some family here…"

"Your first husband's family, not your family…"

"My son's family," Scarlett corrected. "And, therefore, mine too. I'd miss them if I didn't live here. I have my business, I'm not too far away from Tara…" He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Where I grew up," she clarified. "My children are happy here." She stopped speaking as she caught his stare. Then, when it became obvious he was not going to say anything else, she added, "Why do you ask?"

"Consider it friendly curiosity," he replied.

"Friendly curiosity?" Scarlett said and she couldn't help the corners of her mouth from turning upwards.

"Yes. Unless you think…" He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "Scarlett, would you ever consider moving away from Georgia?"

"Where to?"

"Oh, I don't know. Somewhere still Southern. Maybe South Carolina or…Louisiana?"

"I've never really cared for South Carolina," Scarlett replied.

"What about Louisiana?"

"Louisiana? Why would I want to go there?"

"Perhaps if you wanted to make a fresh start."

"But…"

"With me." He looked at her intensely as he tried to convey the unspoken meaning.

"With…with…you?"

"With me," he repeated and then, when she crinkled her forehead, he quickly added. "I'm talking hypothetically, of course."

"Of course," said Scarlett.

"But if you did ever decide to leave your marriage, it wouldn't be impossible for someone else to marry you."

"No…but…I'm already somebody else's wife"

"Yes. The wife of someone who appears to have abandoned you!" he replied sharply

"He hasn't abandoned me."

"No? Then where is he? Where has he been for the last nine months?"

"He's been travelling. He's been sorting out his business interests. He's been…"

"Away from you."

"He's…"

"He's been away from you."

"Alright then, Jack. He's been away from me. He's been away from me! But I…" and then suddenly all of the feelings of hope that she had carried in her heart for the past few weeks came tumbling out in the form of silent tears. Why were her tears always so close to the surface? she cursed as she tried to still them. She heard the cufflinks from his shirt scratch the table and then she felt his hand on her arm.

"Scarlett, I'm sorry," he said soothingly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know that…well…if anything didn't work out with Captain Butler that I…"

Scarlett drew the napkin from her lap and dabbed the tears from her eyes. "I'm a silly fool," she said quietly. "And you deserve better than me Jack. You should be with someone who isn't already married to someone else..."

"It wouldn't bother me if you got divorced…"

"Or in love with someone else."

"Even if that person doesn't love that other person back?" She wasn't looking at him but she heard him swallow. "Love isn't everything, Scarlett. It helps but that first flush of love soon dies. I'm sure you've figured that out with your marital history. And besides, there's more to marriage than love."

Scarlett snorted softly. He was astute but he was also blind. "Maybe you're right, Jack. But you can't – or rather you shouldn't – marry someone if there isn't love there in the first place. You loved your first wife, didn't you?" He didn't say anything but when Scarlett looked at him, she saw him nod his head. "And I was too young to properly understand what love was when I married my first two husbands. But with Rhett – it's different. And however hard I have tried over the past few months I can't stop loving him. And until I do – _if _I ever do – I can't think of being with anyone else." She saw something – pain? – briefly wash over his face. Then, she whispered, "However much I might like them."

He remained mute, picked up his coffee cup and took a noisy sip before he finally emptied it and stood up. "Well, I guess I'd better be on my way then. I have to finish up some business over at the top of Marietta Street and then I expect I should start planning my return to Baton Rouge. I've been away too long." Scarlett looked up at him, his mien a blend of hurt and defeat. She wanted to say something that would make the situation easier but she had never been very good at knowing what to say in difficult circumstances. And she had never been very soothing.

"Jack, I wish I..." she began but stopped. What was there left to say? She couldn't say what he wanted her to say and she couldn't say what she wanted to say – that if she wasn't in love with Rhett or married already, then he would have made a perfectly decent husband. She of all people knew what it was like to know they were second best.

"Don't Scarlett," he said in a hushed tone. "I wanted to know and now I know." He lent down and picked up her ungloved hand, brushing his lips over it. "I wish you happiness," he said before he turned on his heels and walked out of the door.

_As an aside, I have taken poetic licence with the tea room – I think I am about 10 years too early. I also have never been to Atlanta proper (only the outskirts and Bobby Jones' golf club) so I have no idea of the names of the streets. And I think Jack here is perhaps a bit too abrupt here – but he also needs to move on and I think for two reasonably worldly people, they wouldn't necessarily have much of a courtship. Some don't like Jack – and that is my fault, my clumsy characterisation. He was always meant to be part of the story to show Scarlett that there were other options out there – and viable ones too. And Scarlett could only ever get divorced if she left Atlanta. But my Scarlett would never have given Rhett a divorce. Latent Catholicism and all that jazz. And knowing her parents would turn in their graves._

_One final thing – I loved the GWTW film but they got her Ashley party dress wrong – it should have been green (although the burgundy dress was beautiful). And I think for the reasons I mention in this chapter, this was an unfortunate mistake. Oh – and at the V&A in London – they are showcasing the velvet curtain dress (as well as a host of other film dresses) for a few months._

_PS Now I have updated – Amaranta – won't you too?_


	31. Chapter 31

_There are probably some errors/typos in this chapter but I was keen to get it posted as I have quite a busy week ahead. Thanks for all you faithful reviewers and the new ones too!_

Chapter 31

One mid-August evening, Scarlett was riding along Decatur Road with Wade and Ella. It was late and she was tired and as she steered the horse and buggy through Atlanta's streets she lamented giving Pork the night off to spend with Dilcey.

They had spent the evening with Emma and her parents at their house near Five Points, and Ashley and Beau had also joined them. After supper, the three children had made themselves scarce and disappeared into the back room to play snakes and ladders whilst the adults had played Authors and discussed the spreading economic crisis. It was only when Scarlett had heard Wade's raised voice accusing Ella of cheating that Scarlett realised how late it had become and quickly hustled her clan out of the little house.

Scarlett yawned. The jostling of the buggy and quietness of the night was lulling her into a sleepy – and dangerous - trance. She gripped the reins tighter round her hands and scrunched up her eyes a couple of times, trying to blink herself awake. It was almost ten o'clock and although Ella had fallen asleep a while ago, her tired head nestled against her mother's body, Wade sat bolt upright and alert, flanking his mother on her right side.

The long, hot summer was drawing to a close. In a couple more weeks, Ella would, once again, begin to spend her mornings with Miss Brickston and Wade would be back at school. And Scarlett would be buying her ticket to take the train to Charleston.

"Are you looking forward to starting school again?" Scarlett asked, looking across at her son, the orange glow from the street light casting a shadow on the left hand side of his face.

Without turning round, he replied, "Yes, Mother."

"I suppose I need to get Mr Stephenson round to the house to measure you up for a new uniform," Scarlett continued, trying to coax him into a conversation. "You've grown so much since June that I doubt your old uniform still fits you."

He didn't answer.

"Well, does it?"

"What Mother?"

"Your uniform. Does it still fit you?"

"I don't know Mother. I haven't tried it on," Wade replied and then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Wade!" Scarlett scolded. "Please look at me when I am talking to you."

He turned his head slowly round to face her. "Sorry Mother," he said. "I thought we should be looking at the road rather than each other." He looked away again, but not before Scarlett caught him rolling his eyes at her.

"Wade! Don't you dare do that to me! If I wasn't holding these reins I would…ohhhh….What's got into you?" Scarlett admonished and she shook her head. He was becoming increasingly exasperating and she found herself wishing more and more that she had Charles around to help her guide him into manhood. Or Will. Or better still Rhett. But the only man she could possibly consider discussing Wade's growing pains was with Ashley and she knew he would be as much use as locking the door would have been to keep the Yankees out the night Atlanta fell.

The horse's hooves clip clopped along the streets, breaking the eerie stillness and the tense silence that had fallen between Scarlett and her son. After a while, Wade said quietly, "I want to go back to Charleston."

Scarlett didn't say anything. She was tired of hearing Wade bleat about Charleston and how he missed his stepfather and his new grandmother.

"I said, I want to go back to Charleston," he repeated, more loudly this time so that there was no opportunity for Scarlett to pretend she hadn't heard him.

His statement riled her. "Why on earth for?" she asked even though she knew his answer.

Her son turned towards her. "Because Uncle Rhett is there. That's why." There was a sarcastic lilt to his tone.

"I see," she said and her mind drifted to her own plans to go to Charleston. She reckoned she needed three or four more weeks and then she would be ready to go, by which time, the children would be back in a routine, the house would be almost finished, her dresses would be ready and she would have figured out exactly what she was going to say to her husband and, more importantly, _how_ she was going to say it to him.

For a brief moment, she considered confiding in her son about her upcoming visit but she didn't want him to get his hopes up and besides, Ella's ears were like elephants – even in her sleep they were probably flapping. And Ella was hopeless at keeping any secret. The whole of Atlanta would know that Scarlett was going to Charleston to woo her husband if Ella heard Scarlett confess her plan to Wade. So she remained mute.

After a while, Wade spoke again. "I asked him that question," he said as Scarlett guided the buggy, left, onto Peachtree Street.

"Hmmm?"

"I asked him that question," he repeated.

"What question?"

"You know…"

"No I don't know."

"The question about whether he loved you."

Scarlett suddenly felt as though she had stopped breathing. "What?" she managed to utter.

"I asked him if he loved you." Scarlett continued staring at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. When she didn't say anything, Wade continued, hesitantly. "You…you…told me I should."

"No I didn't!"

Scarlett heard her son swallow hard. "Yes. You did Mother. Just before Ella and I went to Charleston. We were having dinner…and…"

"You thought that I actually _meant_ for you to ask him?" Scarlett shot back defensively, as the memory came forcefully back to her. "You're becoming as meddlesome as your Aunt Sue and as gossipy as your Aunt India! And neither are attractive traits!"

Scarlett saw her son's forehead wrinkle in confusion and then his bottom lip tremble. God, he had better not cry on her! When would he develop some backbone? She turned her attention back to the road as she silently seethed and then she felt him squirm away from her, so that he was no longer touching her arm. Finally, she heard him gulp a sigh and the sound jolted her from her anger. She didn't want her children to be afraid of her, of her unpredictable temper and her sour tongue, especially when she had made such a concerted effort to be kinder to her children, to be more patient with them.

"Wade," she said softly. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I guess I have had a long day and my nerves are a bit frayed. It's late – for all of us. Goodness knows how we managed to stay at Mr and Mrs Burr's for so long," she said and she looked across at him and smiled.

"That's alright Mother. I understand. I shouldn't have brought it up. But I miss him."

"I know you do, darling. And I am sure he misses you," and then absentmindedly, as her thoughts once again swung round to her husband and her forthcoming trip, she added, "I miss him too."

"You do?" he asked hopefully.

She shot a look at her son, his hazel eyes fixed on her. "Yes, of course I do. He's been a part of my life as long as you've been born."

"So, why are you in Atlanta and he is in -"

"Perhaps we can all go to Charleston to visit him at Christmas," she interrupted, trying to keep control of the conversation.

"He said he was going to Prussia for Christmas," he said resignedly.

"Did he?" questioned Scarlett, not really sure what or where Prussia was.

"Yes. And then he said he was going to go to Spain and then…Tang...Tangier I think. I think that's what he said."

"I see. Well, perhaps we can go to Charleston before Christmas. Or we can go after Christmas. Perhaps we can go at Easter."

"Easter's too far away Mother. I'll be thirteen by then."

"Well…" She was so tempted to tell him of her plans! "Perhaps we can go and visit him in October.. Or perhaps…perhaps…we can ask him to come and visit us."

"Maybe," he replied, in a way that made her think he didn't believe her.

Another silence fell between them. They were going past the junction with Marietta Street, past a couple of new tailors and then a new hat shop that had recently opened up and which she had already patronised in readiness for her trip to Charleston. Scarlett swivelled her eyes back to the road in front of her. But there was little activity on the street and Scarlett knew there wouldn't be until they went past the junction with Seventh Street – a street that housed the bars and taverns of Atlanta and Belle Watling's establishment .

"Don't you want to know what he said, Mother?" Wade piped as the buggy jingled over a large hole in the road.

"What who said?" asked Scarlett yawning.

"Uncle Rhett, Mother," Wade replied. "Don't you want to know what he said when I asked him the question?"

"Oh." She paused for a few moments and her stomach turned. Of course, she wanted to hear what he said! But only if he confessed that he was still in love with her!

"Do you, Mother?" Wade asked.

Scarlett opened her mouth to say something but instead just swallowed some air.

"Mother…" Wade persisted.

"Well…I…" and her voice faltered. "Yes." She pulled the reins tighter over her knuckles, so that they almost cut through her leather gloves. Then she braced herself for the revelation. Surely Rhett would have kept to his promise not to poison her own children against her? Surely he wouldn't have told her son what he thought of his mother, unless it was kind? Surely Rhett wouldn't have been so crass as to tell her son that he didn't love her, even if that was the truth?

"He told me that things were…erm…complicated between you. He…said…that…" And then Wade stopped speaking and Scarlett felt her son's whole body shift round to face the side of the buggy. She looked at him but he wasn't looking at her. He had a queer expression on his face and then his hand went to his mouth.

"Oh…my….goodness….Mother! The bakery! Look at it! It's on fire. There's smoke coming out of the roof!" Scarlett whipped her head round to follow his gaze and saw smoke billowing out of the front window. She opened her mouth and then coughed as a faint, acrid, burning smell hit her nostrils.

"Oh dear God," Scarlett blasphemed.

"Fire?" said Ella as she was jarred out of her dreams. She stretched her limbs and then stiffened her back. "Where? Where's the fire."

Scarlett pulled the horse to a standstill and threw down the reins. "Ella! Quickly! Please move!" she shouted, throwing Ella's arms off her. Ella scuttled across and clambered out of the buggy, almost falling to the ground as Scarlett pushed her out. Ella started to cry and Scarlett bent down to her small daughter. "Hush. Please Ella. Not now. We've got to help." She spoke calmly even though she could feel her heart beating wildly. Even though she felt anything but calm.

Wade jumped down onto the side of the road and Ella instinctively reached up for, and then gripped, his hand. "Mother, what should we do?" he asked.

But Scarlett didn't hear because she was already a few paces in front of him and already thinking. She looked around but there was no one in sight. They had passed a couple of carriages five minutes before but that had been it. For some reason, Atlanta had been deathly quiet this evening. Then she saw a man walking on the other side and started to run towards him but by his swagger, she knew he was one of the vagrants who sloped around Atlanta, homeless, trying to find shelter for the night.

"Wade, I have to go and check that no one is in the bakery."

"No one is going to be in the bakery at this time of the night, Mother," said Wade.

"How do you know? No, I have to check. I could never forgive myself if someone was in there and…well, never mind. You take Ella and the buggy and go to…" She tried to think who lived close by. "Go to Uncle Henry's and tell him what has happened. The fire station is too far away." Wade stood looking at her, as though his feet had sprouted roots. "Hurry!" said Scarlett.

"But Mother, I've…I've…never driven the buggy. I'll run instead."

"It'll take you too long to run. You're almost half a mile away!" And then seeing his bewildered expression, she rushed over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "You'll be fine, Wade." He still didn't move. "Please Wade. You'll be fine," she said softly. "You've seen me and Pork drive buggies and carriages often enough. You can do it."

Another brief look of panic flashed across his face but Scarlett gave him a gentle nudge and then he jumped back into the buggy, dragging Ella up to sit on the driver's seat with him. Scarlett watched as he jerked the reins and started moving away. Then she took out her handkerchief from her pocket, to protect herself from inhaling the toxic fumes, and started running towards the smouldering building.

As she got closer, she could see flames beginning to creep up the window panes. It didn't look as though it had been on fire for long although she was no expert.

She swallowed and quickly said a prayer. Surely, Wade was right and no one would still be in the bakery at this late hour? The bakery shut at seven o'clock and sometimes even earlier. But as she tried to reassure herself, she recalled a conversation that she had had with Maybelle at one of the sewing meetings she had attended in the spring. She had confided in Scarlett how worried she was that her mother was working too hard. Her profits had begun to dip as a result of the recession and so Mrs Merriwether had increased her hours and fired one of her two members of staff to save on costs.

With a sense of foreboding, Scarlett ran along the stone path that circled the property. The bakery was set back slightly from the road and, unlike the neighbouring properties, was detached. One of the front windows was slightly ajar and so Scarlett went up to it to try and see inside. But she couldn't see anything apart from smoke. She ran round to the back, holding her handkerchief across her mouth, trying to shield herself from the pungent smoke that was beginning to penetrate her lungs. She peered in, standing on her toes for a better look but the smoky curtain once again shielded her view. She dropped her feet to the ground and moved a few steps away. The fog was stinging her eyes and making them water. She stood still for a moment, deliberating. She couldn't see anything and surely if someone had been in there, they would have escaped. Yes, they would have left. She turned and started walking away but as she did, rising above the din of her own coughing fit, she heard a hoarse, pained cry. Someone _was_ in the building.

Immediately, without thinking of her own safety, she stepped back towards the furnace and opened the back door. The room was filled with a grey cloud but the flames were strongest at the front and thankfully, the fire hadn't yet spread to the back half of the building. Her eyes darted round the room, taking in the scene, and then she noticed that a whole stack of shelves had fallen over, splaying its contents over the wooden floor. Pots, pans, rolling pins, baking sheets were spread all around. And then she saw Mrs Merriwether. Her plump frame was lying on its front, with one leg trapped under the shelves. "Mrs Merriwether!" she spluttered.

The old woman's head twisted round to face her would be saviour. "Help me!" she shouted before she added, "Who are you? I can't see anything."

"It's Scarlett, Mrs Merriwether."

"Scarlett! Scarlett! Oh thank the Lord!" she managed to spit out before her voice was strangled by coughing.

"Keep your head down," ordered Scarlett as she remembered an old war story Rhett had relayed to her, when he had had to go inside a burning building to rescue one of his fallen comrades. He had told her that there was more oxygen closer to the floor.

Scarlett started crawling towards the old battleaxe.

"It's the shelves! My leg is trapped. I can't move it." Mrs Merriwether said, her voice husky from fear and smoke. "I can't… twist….my body out," she spluttered.

"It's alright, Mrs Merriwether. Wade's gone to get help. They'll be here soon," Scarlett said and reached for the wizened hand and squeezed it.

Just at that moment, an old bench that sat near the front of the door crashed down, its wood splintering and crackling. Scarlett looked towards the burning wood and earthenware, feeling her knees shake. They had to get out before the fire engulfed not just Mrs Merriwether, but her too.

Scarlett gulped and then she released her grip on the old lady. She stood up, stepped over the displaced pots and tried to push the shelves. But they barely budged. She tried again with even lesser success. It was hopeless. "I can't. It's too heavy," whispered Scarlett, trying to disguise her rising panic.

"Please Scarlett. Please. Try again."

Scarlett nodded, and tried again. And this time, she managed to move them a couple of inches. But she wasn't strong enough to hold them high enough or long enough for Mrs Merriwether to drag her leg out. She looked at the creeping fire and she started coughing. The smoke was getting thicker and the heat more intense. Mrs Merriwether would be burnt alive if Scarlett didn't manage to get her out. They had three or four minutes at most and by her reckoning, Wade was at least ten minutes away.

"I'm going to push the shelves up again but I won't be able to hold them up for long. You have to drag your leg out, Mrs Merriwether, quickly. I'm going to count to three and on three, I'll lift and you will have to move your leg as fast as you can." From out of the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw a ferocious nod from Mrs Merriwether.

Scarlett started counting. "One….two…three…" and then Scarlett took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, screwed up her face and put all her strength into pushing the shelves up. And by some miracle, they moved. "Quick, Mrs Merriwether, quick. I'm not sure how…much…longer…" Scarlett cried, trying to ignore the searing pain that was piercing her whole body. "I…can't…" And just as Scarlett's tiny body could bear the weight no longer, the old lady managed to drag her damaged leg free. Scarlett dropped the shelves to the floor and then feeling all blood draining from her face, she crouched down so that she wouldn't faint.

"Scarlett, we have to get out," said Mrs Merriwether as Scarlett put her hands on the ground to steady herself.

"I know, Mrs Merriwether. Can you…?" but she didn't complete the sentence because it was obvious that her some time enemy couldn't stand, let alone walk. She would have to be carried out. Or dragged out.

Scarlett got onto her feet, feeling the sweat pouring off her face and trickling down her neck. She felt dizzy from the putrid smoke and sick from the aches in her back but she couldn't think about that yet. She leaned over Mrs Merriwether's bulk and put her arms underneath the old woman's armpits before she started dragging her towards the back exit.

She felt her back click and another sharp pain cut through her thigh but she ignored her discomfort. She had done this before, she thought, remembering when she had dragged the dead Yankee half way across Tara to bury him. This was easy she tried to reassure herself. A dead body was always heavier than a living body, especially a dead, male, Yankee body. She looked behind her towards her exit – she had five more steps at most.

Finally, she felt the cooler night air on her face and when she stepped down off the doorstep, she knew she was outside. She looked down at Mrs Merriwether's face which was contorted in silent agony and decided to drag her further away from the building. And just as Scarlett could take no more, she collapsed outside onto the rough grass that made up the yard to the bakery with the heavy frame of Mrs Merriwether resting on top of her. Her head hit the ground, welcoming the relief of the weight and just before she fainted she thought she saw Uncle Henry and Wade and three or four other people that she couldn't quite decipher running towards her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Scarlett was sitting at the piano, trying to teach Ella some new notes. She heard someone knock at the front door and then heard Mammy waddle over to open it. With the carpet ripped up and the new floorboards laid, the comings and goings at the house were less easily disguised.

Ella continued playing the keys whilst Scarlett strained her ears to hear who had arrived. Then, she heard two sets of feet walk across the hallway towards the parlour.

"Miss Scarlett. Miss Maybelle. She here to see you." Scarlett twisted round on the stool to face Mammy and her guest. Maybelle smiled shyly at Scarlett as Scarlett looked at her.

"Hello Scarlett," she said, her posture awkward and uncertain.

"Hello Maybelle," Scarlett replied, before she looked down at her daughter and patted her gently on the back. "Ella darling, why don't you go with Mammy and see what Wade's up to." Mammy held out her hand and Ella scampered off with the old, faithful servant, leaving the two former friends alone.

"Would you like some tea? Or some cordial, Maybelle?" asked Scarlett when she could hear her daughter and Mammy begin to ascend the stairs.

"No…I'm fine thank you." Maybelle looked at Scarlett and then said, "Would you mind if I sat down?"

"Please do," said Scarlett gesturing to one of the settees. Maybelle settled herself and as she did so, Scarlett caught a glimpse of her swollen ankles and her tattered petticoats. She looked unkempt and Scarlett knew it wasn't just because of the pregnancy but because of the strain of looking after her mother and three children.

"How can I help you, Maybelle?" asked Scarlett, trying to conduct the meeting like a business meeting.

Maybelle cleared her throat and then spoke. "Scarlett, I wanted to come round to say thank you for saving Mother. On behalf of Mother and all of us. If it hadn't been for you, well, it's just too awful to think what might have happened."

"I was just in the right place at the right time. Besides, if I hadn't come along, someone else would have helped her," Scarlett said, trying to bat away the compliment.

"No. I don't believe they would have. And I don't think anyone else would have battled the flames and risked their own life to go into the bakery."

Scarlett shrugged.

"I'm sure someone …"

"No. No one else would have done what you did because no one else would have thought someone would still be in the bakery at that time of the evening. I still can't believe Mother was working so late or that Father hadn't noticed she wasn't home."

"He was with my Uncle Henry, playing cards."

"Yes, I know. But still…" There was a momentary pause as both women gathered their thoughts. Then, Maybelle continued. "Did you know that Mother was stuck underneath that furniture for almost one hour?"

"Yes. Uncle Henry told me," Scarlett replied. He had also told her how it had all happened. How Mrs Merriwether had stayed late to prepare for her orders the following day; how the old wooden shelves had collapsed as she had loaded it up with more earthenware than it could hold, bringing down the whole unit; how she had narrowly escaped being hit her on the head; and how twenty minutes or so before Scarlett had found her, a stray cat had ventured into the bakery through one of the open windows and knocked down a candlestick that was perched on the front table next to a thick order book.

"How is your mother?" Scarlett asked.

"She is fine. Still in a bit of shock but she is no longer in pain. Dr Meade says it is unlikely she will ever be able to walk on her leg again. The bone is shattered."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Scarlett said.

"She'll have to use a wheelchair probably but we're all just thankful she is alive. If it wasn't for you…" Maybelle started again but stopped as she saw Scarlett shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Was the bakery insured?" Scarlett asked quietly, knowing how much the Merriwethers – and the Picards – depended on its income.

"Yes. Thank goodness that was one cut that Mother didn't make in her austerity drive. René met some builders yesterday too. They estimate that they can re-build the bakery in six weeks – once of course, the insurers pay out."

"Good."

"But Mother is already worrying about how long the bakery will be closed for," Maybelle continued quietly.

Scarlett glanced at Maybelle and saw her cast her tired and puffy eyes downwards but not quickly enough to hide the tears that were glistening in her pupils. Maybelle started playing distractedly with the clasp on her reticule and when she bit her lip to quell a full onslaught of tears, something in her defeated poise broke the ice that had encircled Scarlett's heart, ever since Scarlett had found out about Maybelle's treachery. Maybelle needed her mother – and more importantly, the whole family needed Mrs Merriwether and the bakery income just to survive. Goodness knew how long it would take for the insurers to pay up! It could be months. And during that time, they would have no means to generate money as well as face the very real possibility that a new bakery would spring up and lure away all of Mrs Merriwether's customers. It seemed so unfair to Scarlett, that all of her hard work might yet amount to nothing. And the thought of that made Scarlett angry and also sad – Mrs Merriwether might have been one of her biggest critics but Scarlett had always secretly admired how successful the old busybody had made her bakery. All on her own. Without even the help from her useless husband, Mr Merriwether.

"Maybelle," Scarlett started, as an idea began to form in her head. "I have a big kitchen." She moved from the piano stool and sat on a chair that was next to Maybelle. "When we built this house, we made sure that the kitchen had the best and biggest ovens and stoves to cater for all the parties I wanted to host." Scarlett smirked at the thought, that life only a distant and not entirely pleasant memory. "We…we have a large pantry too and well, it's only me and the children for much of the time. The kitchen isn't really used as it should be or as it was built to be." Maybelle looked up at Scarlett, unsure exactly where the conversation was leading. "You could always…if you like… set up the business here. Until the bakery is re-built that is. The front yard is big enough for a stall, too, to sell the breads and cakes from and if your mother needed an extra pair of hands from time to time, I am sure Dilcey and Minnie would help – behind the scenes of course."

"Scarlett, we can't possibly accept such…charity…"

Scarlett furrowed her brow in confusion. "It's not…charity…well, not exactly…Maybelle."

"You've already done enough for us," Maybelle said. "You don't have to do this."

"No, but I have a kitchen that is hardly used and besides, I couldn't bear to see all of your mother's hard work amount to nothing. Why, I only heard Mr Thompson the other day say how he would like to open a bakery if your mother's wasn't open. You know as well as I do how long it could take for you to get the insurance money, especially with the economy as it is, and by the time the bakery is re-built, you might not have a business. This way…well…you could keep your regular customers and perhaps even get new customers as the house is in a slightly different part of town." Maybelle didn't say anything. "Will you think about it?"

"Scarlett, do you forgive me?" Maybelle finally asked.

"Forgive you?"

"Yes, for writing to Captain Butler." This time, it was Scarlett's turn to remain quiet. "You do believe that I was only thinking of you, that I only had your best interests at heart." Scarlett slowly nodded. "I never meant to hurt you or meddle in your affairs. I thought I was somehow helping but now I see…how it must have looked…to you."

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Scarlett. "And I know that you didn't do it…spitefully. You had your reasons, just as Rhett had his reasons for asking you to write to him." Scarlett stood up. "Come on. Let me show you the kitchen. You can start using it as soon as you want to."

_So the action moves to Charleston – and of course, Rhett will make a long overdue appearance in Chapter 32._

_I've always loved Scarlett's bravery but I often thought it went unfeted (apart from by Melly). And I think one of the most powerful scenes in the book was Scarlett facing the Yankees with only Beau and Wade to "protect" her. I love Scarlett in that chapter (and love the fact that she doesn't shrug off Melly's embrace at the end too). Oh – and I have to make a correction to Chapter 30 – Lawdy Miss Scarlett reminded me that the Yankees stole everything when they visited Scarlett at Tara – so the butterfly hair pin would have had to have been a present from Rhett during her marriage._

_Sorry for those of you that hate the gaps between Scarlett and Rhett chapters - will make up for it in the final few chapters. It will be Rhett and Scarlett all the way. And those chapters are much easier to write._

_Thanks Lawdy for educating me on the difference between buggies and carriages._


	32. Chapter 32

_To all of you reviewers and "prodders" – thank you. I sometimes lose confidence in my writing. There is definite room for improvement here but I will edit it again afterwards. Thank you to Dixie, Ondine, Wolka, Guests and Lizzy for pushing me to publish. Thank you also to Lawdy and Dixie again for reviewing some parts of this. _

_Criticise away!_

_Happy thanksgiving to my US readers._

Chapter 32

Mrs Merriwether took up residence in the Butler kitchen almost before the ashes had settled at the bakery and to begin with, Scarlett wondered if she would live to regret her benevolence. Ever since Bonnie had died, the house had been half asleep, waiting for someone or something to shake it out of its quiescent state. And just as Jack had been Scarlett's temporary Prince Charming, restoring some of her self-confidence that had ebbed away on Melly's deathbed, it was the redoubtable Mrs Merriwether who was now sweeping away the cobwebs that had shrouded the house and the family for almost a year.

Every morning, the mansion would be jolted out of its slumber by the old busybody, who would clatter noisily up the front path in her wheelchair, pushed by René and with Lucy, her other member of staff, trotting loyally behind her. She would bark orders even as they waited for one of the Butler staff to let them in and she would then sweep into the kitchen and take over, relegating Dilcey and Minnie to a small corner and one stove. Even Wade, who had recently developed a never sated appetite, was given short shrift by the Old Cat and told to "stop being a nuisance" when he tried to steal some left over bread and pastries.

"Why is she here, Mother? This is our_ home_," Wade had complained to Scarlett, when she had batted him out of the kitchen for what had seemed liked the hundredth time that week.

"Stop it Wade," Scarlett had replied irritably. "You know very well why she's here. Remember when we lived at Tara and we had all those soldiers who would come by to stay with us because they needed a roof over their head and a meal?" Wade nodded, despite having no recollection. "It's a bit like that."

There was no doubt that Mrs Merriwether ruled the roost, which ruffled Mammy's feathers and Dilcey's too - and it didn't go unnoticed by Scarlett that the usually calm and docile Dilcey went about her chores muttering all sorts of unkind things about their temporary houseguests.

Three days before the first anniversary of Bonnie's death, Scarlett was in her bedroom, waiting for Dilcey to bring her her dinner. She had retired upstairs on the pretence of a headache but really it had been to avoid the chaos that had erupted earlier, when Maybelle had arrived with her three children in tow. "Sorry Scarlett," she had puffed, out of breath from the extra weight she was carrying, "Grace had to run some errands this morning and I had no one to look after the children."

Raoul, who had developed a new respect for Scarlett's eldest child when the full story of his grandmother's rescue came to light, had taken to loitering about the mansion during the day, but his younger siblings had never been in the house before. Within half an hour, all three of the Picard children and Wade and Ella were running around the rooms playing hide and seek after initial timidity gave way to curiosity and then childish pleasure at all the nooks and hiding places.

Scarlett had looked on in mild amusement at how her lovely house was fast becoming a circus, but when Napolean knocked a vase of flowers all over a newly upholstered settee, Scarlett snapped, ordered the children out into the back yard and then swiftly retreated upstairs to eat her midday meal alone.

"Miss Scarlett, der is a telegram for you," Dilcey said as she brought in a tray of food and settled it on the table next to the French windows.

"A telegram?" asked Scarlett, puzzled as to who would be writing to her so urgently that a letter by mail wouldn't suffice. Dilcey nodded and handed it to her mistress.

She waited for Dilcey to leave the room, before she opened the envelope, briefly wondering if it was from Miss Eleanor, or better still, Rhett. Her heart skipped a few beats as she thought of him. She had booked her passage to Charleston only the previous day and would be leaving on the second Wednesday in September.

But the telegram was from neither. Instead, it was from her Aunt Eulalie informing her that Carreen was ill. She read the two line wire several times trying to gather the full meaning of the sparse words. And trying to understand what was implied but unsaid. Aunt Eulalie wouldn't have written to her about Carreen being ill unless…unless…Scarlett closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Surely, her baby sister couldn't be dying? But it was the only meaning that could be implied from the simple statement and the command: Carreen very ill stop come to Charleston.

She blinked hard, aware of a stinging sensation in her eyes, before she pushed her untouched dinner away and stood up. It can't be true! It can't be! she said to herself over and over again. Carreen was only twenty-six years old, not even middle-aged! She was too young to die! Just as Melly had been, just as Bonnie had been. Just as her mother had been.

Scarlett stumbled across the thick pile carpet, aware of a foreign, metallic taste gathering in her mouth and then she bit her lip hard to quell any tears. She had no time to cry or be hindered by sadness. If she was to catch the four o'clock train that went from Atlanta to Charleston, she had to move quickly.

She rang for Mammy and whilst she waited for her, she fumbled in her closet and sought out an old, cotton, grey travelling dress that would be comfortable and cool in the hot weather. Then, she frantically began rifling through the rest of her clothes for suitable Charlestonian garb – pulling out a couple of drab dresses that she hadn't worn since her marriage to Frank and which she should have got rid of years ago. They would have to do, she mused, even though they had long ceased to be fashionable.

Then, her eyes wandered to the darkest corner of her closet, towards the rail of black gowns that she had discarded nearly five months earlier. Even the thought of them made her shiver. She hated not merely how the clothes made her look but how they made her feel. Sad and trapped, her life on hold.

She tossed her head, trying to shake away the memories and then methodically, stripped the black garments from their hangers. Next, she pulled up a stool and clambered on it to reach for the lace mantilla which she had purchased for Bonnie's funeral but which had never been worn. At the last moment, she had swapped it for a veiled bonnet as she had wanted to be able to cry without Atlanta's prying eyes being privy to her grief. But she hadn't realised that, by refusing to let the Old Guard see her ashen face, trembling lip and puffy eyes, she had inadvertently helped to prolong the untruth that she was as hard as nails and hadn't even enough feeling to mourn her own daughter properly.

Scarlett had intended to travel alone and although she had managed to shake off Ella's hysterical pleas to accompany her, Mammy had been more insistent. "You aint goin' to Charleston on you' self, Miss Scarlett," she had said and was already packed and waiting in the hallway when Scarlett ran down the stairs with Minnie and Pork trailing behind, carrying her luggage.

When Scarlett reached the bottom of the staircase she turned to Dilcey, handing her some hastily penned notes to Hugh and Ashley and a longer letter to Aunt Pitty, asking her to look after the children and then she looked at Mammy and eyed her small travelling trunk. "Now, Mammy, darling…" Scarlett started as she opened the front door.

"You aint gwine _Mammy darlin_'me, Miss Scarlett," replied Mammy, her plump frame waddling in Scarlett's shadow, trying to avoid little Anne-Marie Picard who was having a delightful time playing with water and an old tea-set of Ella's on the front door step. "Ay is comin' wid you. Miss Carreen is Miss Ellen daughter too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The journey to Charleston was sixteen hours and Scarlett had booked interconnecting cabins for herself and Mammy. She had contemplated wiring ahead to warn Miss Eleanor of her impending visit but had decided that she would arrive before any letter and besides, as Miss Eleanor had been at pains to point out, Scarlett was family, her dear son's wife no less, and she was always welcome.

As the train whistled through the Georgian countryside, Scarlett's thoughts swung between Carreen and Rhett and with each station she passed, she became more apprehensive.

She hated death and being close to it. During the war, she had never been very good at having to sit with the patients and hold their hands as their lives trickled out of them. And with Carreen, it was going to be even harder – for that was what she knew she would end up doing. She had always thought that she didn't really love her youngest sister but just as she had finally seen that Melly's supposed weakness actually masked a strength, she could now better appreciate that same fragile beauty in Carreen.

And then there was her husband. Sometimes she thought of him with excitement and other times, with fear. Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. What was she supposed to think about him? About them? What did he really want?

But as her mind drifted towards thoughts of a reconciliation, she realised she had a major problem. Her wardrobe. How was she ever going to seduce her husband when she had to wear such unpretty clothes or worse still, have to dress like a crow? He didn't like her in black, and she knew it made her look older and drained colour from her complexion. And with such uncertainty swirling in her head, she felt a pang for a drink or three - not for the first time in her life did she wish she was a man so that she could drown out her worries sitting at a bar.

At seven o'clock, Mammy was dozing and Scarlett slipped out, away from Mammy's overprotective eye, in search of some refreshments. She could at least have a glass of wine with supper. That should calm her.

The dining carriage was five cars down from her cabin and it was already busy, mostly with middle-aged and elderly men and women and the odd younger couple. As she was shown to her table she glanced over her shoulder and saw two elderly ladies sitting behind her. They were both dressed blandly but elegantly, one thin as a wire, with raven hair, streaked with silver, the other plump with protruding teeth that were still visible, even when she tried to close her thin-lipped mouth. They were gossiping and laughing and seemingly getting merrier with every sip of wine they imbued. As she shuffled onto her seat, the fatter lady looked up, catching Scarlett's eye and for a moment Scarlett wondered if they might ask her to join them. She wouldn't have minded some company – anything to take her mind off Carreen. And Rhett.

Scarlett ordered some beef and dumplings and a carafe of blackberry wine. The wine came quickly and by the time her meal was brought to her table, she had already finished three quarters of it. The sweet, red liquid tasted good and she welcomed the hazy, slightly numbing effect that it had on her body. As she drained her third glass, she looked out of the window at the orange sky. Soon, any daylight would disappear and the next time she would be able to see the scenery, she would be in South Carolina. And then Charleston. That suffocating place, all drawling flat voices and dull tea parties and-

"Have you heard the latest gossip about Rhett Butler?" Suddenly, Scarlett was jolted out of her reverie. Her ears pricked up. Why would anyone be talking about Rhett? she thought tentatively. She quietly laid her cutlery down on her plate and stemmed her breathing. The ladies had become quieter and even though she inched backwards in her seat, it was hard to hear them. "He's only gone and taken up with a French lady. If you can call her a lady."

"Honestly, it's –"

At that very moment, the gentlemen sitting across from Scarlett started coughing, obscuring Scarlett's hearing from the whispered conversation. She cursed and scowled at the oblivious man.

When he finally stopped, the fatter lady was speaking. "…a former ballerina. _Apparently_. He met her in-" The coughing started again and Scarlett gripped the table cloth to steady her nerves as the information twirled around in her head. A ballerina? A _French_ woman? She was aware that her heart was beating faster and she tried to calm it and tried to still her rising panic. How could he? How could he have taken up with someone else already and be flaunting the relationship so publicly? He had only left Atlanta in June! And he had wanted her, then. Hadn't he? Self-doubt was creeping into her mind and the events of June and what he had said to her on that evening when she had almost given in to her desires, blurred and became fuzzy.

She shook her head. No he definitely had wanted her then, she reassured herself. That's what Miss Eleanor had said. And wasn't the evidence in his preparation of the ivory bedroom? Wasn't that why he had bought the clock? Perhaps these ladies had got it wrong. Perhaps this _ballerina_ was just a friend. It wouldn't be out of character for Rhett to escort a French lady around Charleston who was new to the city. Yes, that must be it.

"She's descended from one of the mistresses of Napolean. Or was it Louis XVI? I don't remember. Quite beautiful, or so I've been told. For a middle aged woman." Scarlett felt her rib cage expand as she took in a lungful of air. So this ballerina was older than she was, even if only by a handful of years. The thought cheered her up. "Fair hair…" So not like her. "Slender. Exquisite features and a tiny waist. _Apparently_," one of the ladies spat out in disgust. A _tiny _waist? Immediately, Scarlett's hands went to her own and she pinched it through her stays. Hers was still small, but not tiny. Her pregnancy with Bonnie had put paid to any illusions that she could squeeze it to seventeen inches.

"Have you seen her, Lillian?"

"No. But William has. He bumped into Captain Butler and this… _H__é__l__è__ne_ a couple of weeks ago. They had just been to the theatre and…" There was some more coughing and Scarlett dug her nails into her palm to restrain herself from shouting across at the elderly gentlemen to ask him to stop. She had to hear this. However painful it was.

"He's quite smitten. Apparently." _Smitten?_ Scarlett swallowed the emotion that was bubbling to the surface. Now she had heard enough. She didn't want to hear anything else. How could her husband be _smitten_ with someone whom he barely knew? And then a horrible thought struck her. He had been visiting Paris ever since she had first known him. For years and years. Perhaps this _H__é__l__è__ne_ was an old acquaintance of his or worse still, perhaps she was an old mistress of his. Oh dear God, how could he do this to her, how could he humiliate her once again? What did Miss Eleanor think? Was she aware of this new woman in her son's life?

"I've heard that he wants to move to Paris with her. Georgina heard it from Catherine who heard it directly from Eleanor."

So Eleanor did know! Had she known when she visited Atlanta? Scarlett moved her seat back a few inches, her anger coursing through her veins. Just when she had been prepared to risk rejection once again and offer herself to him, he had already moved on! Wade must have got it wrong! He wasn't planning to go to – where was it her son had said? Prussia? – it had been Paris! Thank God she had taken this train! Thank God she had sat at this very table! At least she wouldn't make a fool of herself when she saw him again. _If _she saw him.

"Poor Eleanor. I don't know how she copes. After all these years, her son still can't quite manage to behave himself. She should have wiped her hands of Captain Butler years ago!"

"Now, now Lillian. That's slightly harsh. He is her son even if he _is_ Henry Butler's grandson. And he hasn't always had such loose morals. He got married – don't you remember? To that widow. She was Eulalie Robillard's cousin – or something like that. And he was very good and properly behaved around his daughter. Do you remember when he visited Eleanor three years ago with the little girl?"

"I remember. A delightful child. Beautiful blue eyes, full of life and she had Captain Butler wrapped round her finger. At not even three years old! Her death was a real tragedy. Eleanor was quite broken by it."

"He has other children though doesn't he?"

"His _wife_ has other children but they aren't Captain Butler's. She'd been married before. Actually, funny you mention them. The step-children were in Charleston only a few weeks ago and I invited them to my grandson's birthday party. For Eleanor of course. The wife was meant to be quite a beauty – although I'm only going on reputation - but her daughter! Well, I don't mean to be unkind but she was quite the ugliest child I have ever seen." Scarlett's hackles rose. How could a stranger be so cruel about a child she didn't know. "All freckles and ginger curls. A very plain complexion. Captain Butler seemed rather fond of her which was quite surprising – I mean, his own daughter had been such a beauty and here he was saddled with the plainest child in all of South Carolina!" There was a short pause and then Scarlett heard cutlery being replaced on a plate. "Perhaps the mother wasn't quite the beauty that everyone said she was." Another pause. "Quite strange, really, how two children can share the same mother and yet look so different. One so pretty and engaging, the other-"

Scarlett had had enough and she stood up abruptly, almost tripping over the long table cloth that draped over the floor. "I'd mind you to keep your poisonous remarks to yourself," she said, almost shouting. "The ugliest girls often turn into the most beautiful belles. And before you start spouting such spite, I would suggest that you both take a good look in the mirror!"

The two ladies sat with their thin lipped mouths, wide open, before the plumper one finally spluttered out, "Who…who… do you think you are to talk to your elders like that? Didn't your mother ever teach you good manners?"

"Yes," Scarlett smirked. "She did. It's a shame that your mothers failed at teaching you yours!" and before the women could detain her any longer, Scarlett had walked out of the carriage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the train finally pulled into Charleston, Scarlett was exhausted. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning on the narrow mattress before she had given up and decided to watch the sun rise over South Carolina. She had skipped breakfast – explaining to Mammy that she was not hungry but really it had been to avoid any risk of bumping into those two old biddies again. Or hearing any more stories about her philandering husband.

She disembarked - a subdued Mammy trailing in her wake - and hired a carriage that was waiting outside. "The Sisters of Mercy convent," Scarlett directed and within twenty minutes she was outside a large stone building. Scarlett turned to Mammy. "Mammy, I'll go in first and then-"

"Ay is comin in wid yo, Miss Scarlett," replied Mammy as she shifted her bulk across the seat of the carriage and placed her black, wizened hand on Scarlett's arm. Scarlett looked up at the older woman ready to protest, but she saw Mammy's eyes glisten with tears and instead Scarlett moved her other hand to Mammy's left palm and squeezed it. Mammy nodded and her bosom heaved and then she released her grip from Scarlett to take out a hanky to wipe away the water that had started to spring from her eyes.

"Please don't cry, Mammy," sniffed Scarlett "I won't be able to bear it if you cry."

"Ay try, Miss Scarlett. But ev'ry time ay think of poor Miss Carreen, my heart hurts."

They walked through the front gates and were met by a couple of nuns and after a brief conversation, they were lead through some cloisters, past a magnificent statue of the Virgin Mary and into a rather austere office and told to wait. Scarlett was struck by how peaceful the whole place was and devoid of any chaos. And when she stood still, the only sound was the rustle of the breeze and the soft chanting of the rosary.

Scarlett walked round the office, nervously wringing her hands. Why was it all taking so long? Why had she been put in this room and not taken straight to see her sister? She peered out of the small, leaded window, which had been left ajar, allowing a cool breeze to ripple through the room and then she heard two song birds twitter before a blackbird swooped down on the window sill and started pecking on some seed.

Suddenly, she could understand how Carreen had found her solace here. After the ravages of war, the constant hunger, it wasn't so strange that she might want to move to a tranquil place where she didn't have to think about where her food was coming from, where she wouldn't have to worry about her personal safety and where it was as though time stood still. She could cocoon herself here, in this convent, hundreds of miles away from any reminder of her lost beau or her dead parents. Or her own lost opportunities. She would have made a wonderful mother, Scarlett thought. She would have been so kind and patient with her children – just like their own mother.

The door creaked open and a nun entered. Scarlett looked up and from her wimple she could tell she was different from the other women she had seen. "Mrs Butler?" the woman asked, in an accent that sounded more from Georgia than Charleston.

"Yes. I'm Mrs Butler." She held out her hand and the woman shook it. "I'm…well…pleased to meet you," Scarlett stuttered awkwardly, unaware of the exact protocol in speaking to holy women. "Thank you for allowing me to visit."

"I'm Mother Josephine. I'm the Mother Superior of this convent. Please, you must be very tired after your travels," she said, gesturing towards an old wooden chair that was next to her desk, "Please sit down." Scarlett did so and then looked over her shoulder at Mammy, who remained standing in the corner of the room.

"I'm here to see Carreen," Scarlett said.

"Carreen?"

"I mean, Sister Catherine," corrected Scarlett, remembering the name that Carreen had taken when she had said her vows. "I'm here to see Sister Catherine."

"Of course you are my dear." Mother Josephine gave Scarlett a kindly look but she didn't move.

"I know she is ill," Scarlett persisted. "My aunt, Eulalie Robillard, wrote to me. I would like to see her, please." The woman still didn't move. "If…I mean…if that is possible."

The Mother Superior locked eyes with Scarlett and her eyes filled with tears. Even before she spoke, Scarlett knew what she was going to say. "I'm so sorry, my dear child. You see, Sister Catherine died earlier this morning."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, Scarlett had managed to get through the next few minutes without fainting, even though she felt all her blood rush from her head. She sat and listened to the Mother explain how Carreen had never been very strong and had rarely ventured into the outside world but how, on occasion, she would visit her aunts. When she had heard that Eulalie Robillard was sick, she had felt it her duty to visit her and to nurse her. Within five days from seeing her aunt, she had started to feel unwell and when she collapsed during afternoon prayers a week later, the Sisters called for a doctor who diagnosed influenza. And although she rallied for a few days, she got weaker and weaker. And then she died.

Scarlett nodded silently as she heard the story and after the Mother Superior had confirmed the details of the funeral for the following day, she led Scarlett and Mammy to a side chapel and prayed with them before she ushered them out of the convent.

The carriage had moved to the other side of the square and Scarlett and Mammy had to walk through it, past a fountain, towards the waiting footman.

Both women walked slowly, staring blankly at the passers-by. "It ain't right, Miss Scarlett," Mammy said, voicing Scarlett's own thoughts. "It ain't right. Miss Carreen ay mean. It aint right," she choked and then she sniffed into her handkerchief.

"No, it isn't," said Scarlett matter of factly, trying to push down her own sobs that came rising up in her throat. "But lots of things aren't right."

"Why did the good Lord take her? Why not me? Ay shuld had died a long time ago. Not Miss Melly, not Miss Bonnie. Not Miss Carreen. Ay shud die."

"Mammy, stop it! You mustn't talk of dying. What good would it do me if you died? I need you! I can't have you dying on me too."

"You don't need me, Miss Scarlett. Ay don tole you before. You is strong. You need nuthin'."

"You're wrong, Mammy," said Scarlett, feeling hot tears on her lashes. "Everyone needs someone. And I need you."

"Ay aint gonna be around forever, Miss Scarlett."

"Maybe not forever, Mammy, but you're going to be around for a long time. Now, please don't talk any more about dying." Scarlett paused and took her own handkerchief out of her reticule to mop the beads of sweat that were gathering on her brow. "We should go and see Aunt 'Lalie and Aunt Pauline and Uncle Carey. I'm sure they'll be expecting us. But we need to go to the hotel first and-"

"A hotel, Miss Scarlett? Ay thought we stay wid Miss Eleanor-"

"No. What made you think that? We can't just turn up announced. And, before you suggest it, we're not staying with Aunt 'Lalie or Aunt Pauline either."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Scarlett, the next few hours and events merged together and she lost any concept of time. She and Mammy had gone over to the once great, but now neglected and decrepit house that her aunts, and her aunt Pauline's husband, Carey, lived in, Carey and Pauline long ago having conceded defeat and handed the keys of their river plantation to the South Carolina Bank. She had had to listen to the snivelling voices of her aunts, the sometimes hysterical lamentations of the passing of dear, sweet, Caroline Irene, all the time interspersed with irritating asides uttered by Uncle Carey, in his grating, nasal accent. But even though her aunts annoyed her, Scarlett sat quietly, only half listening to what was being said. The only thing that Scarlett could be thankful for was that the conversation was almost entirely centred on Carreen and none of them mentioned her husband.

Scarlett had taken the chair in the parlour that gave her the best view of the front path and every time she heard some noise, Scarlett looked out, alert always to the possible arrival of Suellen. But by the time she was ready to leave, Suellen hadn't come and Scarlett, secretly relieved, wondered if she intended to at all.

Scarlett had declined her aunts' invitation to supper and at seven o'clock, the carriage dropped her off outside the white marbled entrance of the hotel . She paid the driver and then she walked in and began, wearily to walk up the grand, central staircase, thankful for the support of the rail that ran alongside. Mammy had decided to take supper with the two house servants and follow on later and Scarlett hadn't objected. She had wanted to be alone and to cry her unshed tears privately.

As she walked towards her own small cluster of rooms, she passed a handsome old lady, shuffling along the corridor, her body stiff with rheumatism. The lady smiled warmly at her but Scarlett quickly turned her head. She was in no mood to talk to anyone or make inane pleasantries. She needed to get to the safety and solitude of her bedroom. Only then would she permit her pent up tears to fall. If they would fall.

When she reached her rooms, she stood outside her door, fumbling for her key that was buried deep in her reticule. Her hands were shaking. Shaking with sadness and fear. Why did God have to take Carreen? Why did God always take her most beloved? Her mother, her best friend, her favourite child. Bonnie! Wouldn't life be so very different if only she hadn't pushed Rhett away, pushed him into using their child as a pawn in their marital battle? Bonnie. It would be that awful first anniversary in two days' time and here she was, stuck in Charleston, and she wouldn't even be able to go to her graveside to leave some flowers. And as she thought of Bonnie, a thought flickered through her mind. How silly of her not to have thought of it before! Rhett wasn't in Charleston. He was in Atlanta – or, if he wasn't already, he was going to be in two days' time. He would be making the same pilgrimage to Oakfield Cemetery that he had made for their little girl's birthday. Scarlett had never been going to see him on this trip – even if she had wanted to. He was hundreds of miles away. Her eyes filled with tears again but still none fell. Maybe she was too upset to cry.

"Madam, do you have a problem with your key?" a young man dressed in the uniform of the hotel asked her.

Scarlett whipped her head up in surprise. She must have been standing outside her door for a couple of minutes at least. "No…I…have it here," she said, showing him the shiny metal with the round bauble at the end. "I was just lost in thought," she replied. "Thank you."

She heard his footsteps fade away and then she put the key in the lock and turned it. She walked into the small vestibule and took off her hat, placing it on the hat stand. She was about to open the door that would lead into her bedroom when she noticed a soft light seeping from underneath the door. She was puzzled. It was day light when she had last been in the room; she wouldn't have left a light burning. And then she shrugged. Maybe one of the chambermaids had put it on in readiness for the evening.

She put her hand on the cold, brass knob and turned it and stood on the threshold, allowing her eyes to focus in the dim light. It only took her a few seconds to notice the uninvited guest, sitting on the settee near the window, one hand holding a cigar. She gasped as a flurry of emotion washed over her and her hand went up to her mouth. His eyes darted up to look at the intruder and seeing it was her, he smiling wryly at her, his teeth gleaming like a pirate's. He snapped whatever book he had been reading shut and then levelled his gaze at her.

"There you are," he said.

_So, that's Chapter 32. I know that the train scenes don't quite work – and the convent scene doesn't quite work either. But I thought I should just be done with it and post. Oh - by the way - I had the idea of Carreen dying before Dixie revealed that Suellen was going to die in WARE_


	33. Chapter 33

_A bit quicker updating this time than last time. Thank you for all your reviews – you are all very good to take the time to let me know what you think, even those of you whose interest in GWTW might be waning._

_Again, room for improvements but if I continue to edit and edit I'll never finish. And I am still hopeful I can get this story completed before 2013._

_Lawdy – thanks for your notes on my last chapter. I'm going to make the changes now._

Chapter 33

Neither of them moved for a few moments. Then, Scarlett's sense of indignation, which had been briefly startled into submission, rose within her. How the hell had he managed to get into her room? Why was he here? He was so nonchalant, damn him! He hadn't seen her in almost three months and all he could say was _There you are._

"There I am?" She furrowed her brow. "What in God's name do you think you are doing here, Rhett?" she spat out.

He sighed and then inhaled on his cigar before he fixed his eyes firmly on his wife. "I could ask you the same question," he responded calmly.

"What? It's my hotel room. I booked it-"

"Yes. I know. In the name of Scarlett O'Hara I noticed." He paused. "Mrs Scarlett _O'Hara_," he said, with a mocking lilt. "Interesting choice of name. Pray tell me, Mrs _Butler_, have you somehow managed to obtain a divorce without me having to sign any papers?"

"Of course I haven't! And you know damn well I haven't!"

He raised his eyebrows rakishly at her. "So why do you try and pretend otherwise?"

"Oh you…." A plethora of words settled on her tongue but she bit them back. He had always had a way of stoking her rage. But she wasn't going to rise to his bait. And she was too tired tonight. Instead, she took a deep breath and then scanned him again. For the first time, she noticed he was in travelling clothes. He had a darker than usual suit on and his Panama hat was resting on the table. Then she spied the small bag beside his chair. Perhaps he had come straight from the station or perhaps he was on his way somewhere. Perhaps he had been on his way to Atlanta after all. He could still make it for Bonnie's anniversary if he caught the nine o'clock train in two hours' time.

"I'm not _pretending _anything," she said quietly. "Really, Rhett, what is it to you, what I call myself?" He didn't answer. She took a couple of steps towards him. "Why are you here? _How_ did you get in?"

"It's amazing how many doors open when you are somebody's husband, Scarlett. Now, you still haven't answered my question, so I'll repeat it. Why are _you _here?"

"It's my hotel room. I have every right to be here."

"Why are you _here_, though?" he said in an even tone. She had the distinct impression he was playing her, trying to catch her out. As he had been wont to do in years gone by. Oh this man would be the death of her! Why did her emotions swing so heavily when she was around him? How could she have ever thought that they had some future? Or more to the point, why would she willingly _want _a future with him?

"If you mean why am I in Charleston, I'm here because…because…" For some reason, she couldn't quite say the words. She couldn't quite say that Carreen was dead.

"I meant, why are you in this hotel?" he said more softly before he inhaled on his cigar again, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on her. Scarlett shot him a look of real hatred. They were going round in circles. She knew she was a game to him, had always been a game to him. And now he was doing it again, setting her a verbal trap before revealing his hand. Goddamn him-

"Rhett, please leave. Please leave this room. You have no right-"

"I do. As your husband." He sighed. "I think you've missed my meaning, as usual." He stood up. "Scarlett, why are you here and not at my mother's house?"

"What do you mean?" she said suspiciously.

"It's a simple question. Why have you-"

"Because I needed a place to stay, Rhett," she interjected, flustered. "And this seemed as good an option as any."

"No. It wasn't an option. Have you considered how this…set up…looks? My wife booking herself in here – under a pseudonym –"

"A pseudonym?"

"A nom-de-plum, a fake name. You haven't been O'Hara legally for thirteen years. I had hoped you had grown up but this latest childish stunt proves otherwise."

Childish? She wasn't being a child, she was protecting herself. From him.

"Rhett. Just leave. This _set up, _or whatever it is you want to call it, doesn't look like anything."

"No? Your mother-in-law, much less your _husband_, lives less than a twenty minute carriage ride away."

"The hotel is closer to the convent," Scarlett shot back, not very convincingly. Rhett's mouth twitched as though he was about to laugh. "And, well…I didn't want her to go to any trouble," she continued. Of course, the real reason was him. She didn't want to turn up on his mother's doorstep unexpected and have to deal with him. She already felt fragile enough. "I thought it best if I was on my own."

"I see," he said simply. He walked over towards the dressing area, his eyes on her half unpacked trunks and then started rifling through the closet, where Mammy had begun to hang up some clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to ascertain whether I need to send two of my mother's servants to collect your belongings or whether one will suffice. Or whether I can manage-"

"Collect my belongings?" Scarlett interrupted

"Yes." He looked at her and even in the darkness she could see a smirk beginning to form on his lips. "You're not staying here."

"Why not? It's perfectly-"

"You're not staying here," he repeated.

Scarlett put her hands on her hips. Who did this man think he was to start ordering her about like this? "What exactly gives you the right to tell me what I can and can't do and where I can and can't stay?" she said indignantly.

"The law." He sighed and his shoulders dropped. He moved across to the mantelpiece and stubbed out his cigar. And then he turned back to her, his eyes blank, his face inscrutable. "Scarlett, fortunately or unfortunately you are still my wife. And more importantly, my mother's daughter-in-law. And whilst I have never cared about gossip, my mother does. And the fact that you are here and not at my mother's house will be humiliating for her. If she finds out. If she hasn't already found out. So, pack what you need for the next couple of hours and I'll arrange for the rest of your belongings to be brought over later."

Scarlett felt chastened. She hadn't even thought about how Miss Eleanor might feel when she had checked into the hotel. She had only thought about Rhett and how she hadn't wanted to see him. Or risk running into him. She was only going to have stayed for a couple of days and she would have moved about Charleston discretely and then left as stealthily as she had arrived.

"But…but…I'm quite settled here. And I'm tired Rhett-"

"I'm tired too," he said quietly. Scarlett's eyes darted up to his face. He didn't _look_ tired. In fact he looked rested, tanned and healthy. He looked anything _but_ tired.

"You don't look tired."

"Believe me. I'm tired Scarlett."

"I've had a long day," she continued. "A very long day. And I got no rest last night. All I want to do is go to sleep. So, if you wouldn't mind, I would rather stay here and be on my own. Can you tell Miss Eleanor that-"

"No," he interjected, softly.

"No? Rhett!" she cried out exasperated. "My sister has died and…" And then the dam that had been threatening to burst all day was finally pierced. Slowly, tears started to snake down Scarlett's face. She stood still, staring at her husband, welcoming the relief that came with finally crying. She didn't try to stem the flow with a handkerchief or try and still the tears by biting her lip. She didn't care what he thought of her. As the tears fell, she thought not just of her baby sister, but Bonnie too and Melly – Melly, who had meant more to her than either of her blood sisters. All three of them dead within one year! And then she thought of Ellen, whom Carreen had been more like than either Scarlett or Suellen. And she started crying for her too. Had she ever cried for Ellen? She couldn't remember. Ellen's death had been so surreal. She couldn't even remember burying her. She hadn't even worn black for her because she had left all her mourning clothes in Atlanta when she had fled Sherman.

Her body began to hiccough as the memories flooded back. It was all too painful. Then, through her blurred vision, she saw Rhett take his hands out of his pockets before she heard tentative footsteps walk towards her.

Blind from the torrent of tears, she felt rather than saw Rhett touch her arm and then he pulled her gently towards him, before he swaddled her in his own arms. She didn't try to resist. She wouldn't have had the energy to even if she had wanted to. Her body spasmed again, in time with the hard, painful sobbing and then she felt his grip around her waist tighten. He was muttering something softly into her hair but his words were indecipherable. After a while, she felt his hold weaken and then his hand start to slowly stroke her head. She might hate him, he might infuriate her, but he was the only person on earth that had ever been able to properly comfort her. Other than her mother.

After a while, her body stopped juddering and she moved her head away from his chest, revealing a large, damp patch on his bosom. "Please… leave…Rhett," she stuttered. "I'm fine now. I…have…a…lot-"

"Stop it Scarlett," he admonished but he spoke gently. "We'll leave together." He caught her chin with his right thumb and index finger and forced her to look at him through her puffy, streaming eyes. "Scarlett, you can sleep all you want at my mother's house. You can have whatever solitude you want there. Away from any curious onlookers. You know, darling, I had barely stepped off the train this afternoon, before people were coming up to me, telling me that my wife had ensconced herself here and rather scandalously under the name of O'Hara."

"I didn't think anyone knew who I was," she said, her voice muffled in her handkerchief.

"That's the problem. You don't always think. You just act." He paused. "It seems that your reputation goes before you. Well, anyway, I laughed it off but I'd rather not have to admit that my wife can't even bear to be under the same roof as me." Through her tear stained vision, she tried to look into his eyes. Did he really think that?

"That's not true, Rhett," she whispered.

"Isn't it?" he whispered back. She hiccoughed again and then shook her head. "Come on darling," he said as he handed her a handkerchief. "I have a carriage waiting outside – if Clarence hasn't given up waiting for me and left. I've been here for over three hours. I don't think he expected me to be quite this long. Now, do you need to take anything with you?"

Scarlett looked around the bedroom. "No. I…oh wait a minute, I have to write a note to Mammy. She won't know where I am."

"Yes she will, Scarlett. I'll take care of Mammy and make sure she moves in to Mother's house too. Tomorrow though. I don't think she'd quite appreciate being disturbed at this late hour. "

"But you don't seem to think I'd care?"

"You might care, but _you _have no choice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The carriage was still waiting, and Clarence, the footman and Eleanor Butler's longest serving servant, helped Scarlett into the carriage.

She collapsed onto the worn, velvet cushions of the carriage, thankful to finally take the weight off her feet. Her eyelids felt heavy and she knew that if she wasn't careful, the motion from the journey would rock her to sleep. After a brief conversation with the doorman at the hotel, Rhett got in beside her.

"Is this your mother's carriage, Rhett?" Scarlett asked as the carriage pulled away from the hotel, up towards Cannon Street.

"Yes. She's had it for years. I've told her that I'll buy her a new carriage but she's quite sentimental about this one. " The carriage was plain, more functional – and certainly uglier - than any of Scarlett's own carriages in Atlanta. "My father bought it for her when she had my sister. It's seen better days and quite frankly, it's a miracle it survived the war."

A silence fell between them and when Scarlett was inadvertently jostled towards Rhett, her knees touching his, she inched away to the corner of the cabin and stared out of the window. Charleston was as sleepy as she had remembered it.

After a while, Scarlett's curiosity got the better of her.

"Rhett?"

"Hmmm."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"When did you ever need permission to ask me a question?"

"How did you know I was at the hotel?"

"I told you. Someone told me at the station."

"Who told you? How did they know who I was?"

"It's not hard, Scarlett. You travelled under your _proper_ name, didn't you?" She nodded. "Well, then."

"So you have spies on me in Charleston as well as in Atlanta!" Scarlett smarted.

She heard Rhett sigh but he remained mute.

"Well, do you?"

"I'm not going to answer you. The question is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Why is it ridiculous? It's not ridiculous when you consider that you had Maybelle and Uncle Henry spy on me when you weren't in Atlanta. Although God knows why," she huffed. And then she murmured under her breath. "It's not as if you care."

"That's right. I don't care."

"Exactly. You don't care. You don't care about me. Or Wade. Or Ella. Because if you did-"

Suddenly, she felt his hand go down on her arm, hard. "God you are…" He stopped and glared at her.

"What?" Scarlett demanded, her defences rising. "_What_ am I?"

"I thought you might have changed. How wrong am I," he said coolly as he released his hold on her.

"_I _have changed," Scarlett replied. "It's _you_ that hasn't. You _profess _that you want grace and some semblance of respectability and yet you are still unable to stop openly cavorting with…with…_whores_." She paused to gather her breath. "Is that why you were away, Rhett? Is that where you were coming back from? Had you taken your new _lover_ on a vacation?"

He turned his full body round towards her, his face black with rage. "I haven't yet laid a finger on a woman in anger, but by God! I'm tempted to do so now."

Scarlett sidled as far away as she could from her husband, her nostrils flaring, her jaw squared mulishly.

"You should get your facts straight, my dear, before you make a fool of yourself," he said icily.

"Make a fool of myself? Make a fool of myself? How would I do that? I'm only going to be _made_ a fool _of_," she replied, before she added venomously. "By you."

"Not by me, darling. I don't need to do anything. You've already made a fool of yourself with Jack Picard, haven't you?"

"Jack? What the devil are you-"

"I understand you've taken to conducting your affair in tea houses. Amongst other places. We should just kill this pretence of ours, Scarlett, and formalise our separation."

"Maybe we should. At least that way, I won't have to be stuck in the same carriage as you again. Or be forced to spend the night under the same roof as you."

She turned away from him so that she faced the window and silently seethed. Her eyes stung from crying, her head ached from tiredness and her feet were hot and swollen from the heat. She hadn't bathed in two days and the idea of slipping into a warm bath was as soothing as any food would have been in those darkest days at Tara. She wanted to be on her own but instead she was stuck in a confined space with the one man who she hated more than anyone. This man who had taken up with a new woman, who had broken into her hotel room and who hadn't recanted any of the hurtful words that he had uttered in October or in June. And who rather unfortunately was still her husband.

She wanted to cry but she was damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of showing him how much he could still upset her. So instead, she closed her eyes and tried to keep awake, but when she next opened them, the carriage was stationary, parked up alongside the street and her head had migrated to Rhett's shoulder.

As soon as she realised the proximity to her husband, she jerked away, and flicked her eyes up towards her husband to see if he had noticed how close she was to him. But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking straight out of the window with a peculiar dazed expression on his face.

"Are we here then?" she asked, shifting her body towards the other side of the carriage.

"Yes," he said, turning to look at her. "Welcome to Wickliffe House." Rhett opened the carriage door, got out and then reached out for her hand to help her down the three steps.

"I can get out by myself, thank you," she said coldly, remembering that she was supposed to be mad at him.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, before he shook his head, turned his back and started walking away from her.

Scarlett stumbled out into the evening air and then stood gaping, as she took in the sight of the large but beautiful, white-washed house in front of her.

It was almost as wide as her house in Atlanta, but it was infinitely more elegant. It was two storeys high, with a flat roof and with chimneys poking discretely out of it. Large, black-shuttered windows dominated the ground floor and balanced the six wide columns that provided a broad veranda at the front. For some unfathomable reason, she had a sense that she had seen this house before.

She began to walk slowly up the paved path which was lined on either side with bluebells and jasmine and then she stopped abruptly as she breathed in the scents of the gardens, and listened to the faint sounds of the Murray River swishing gently against the shore. This was where her husband had retreated three years ago, after the night when her behaviour had finally forced him to lose control. And more recently, when they had both lain broken, and his love for her was as dead as their darling daughter.

"Are you coming Scarlett?" Rhett called out. She looked up at the large figure of her husband, standing at the open front door. "I don't have all night."

Scarlett scowled, before she scooted up the path and into the house, her skirt brushing past him.

She saw him raise his eyebrows as he closed the door behind her but she bit her tongue and instead moved further away from him into the vast hallway. The hall ran from the front to the back of the house, with French windows opening onto a verdant lawn, lit up by gas lamps, and was dominated by a beautiful sweeping staircase. For a moment she was transported back in time. Of course! She hadn't been here but it had seemed familiar because it was almost identical in style to Twelve Oaks! Twelve Oaks, the place that in her childhood had seemed the most elegant house that had ever been built. And now she was standing in its cousin, with similar features, even down to the delicate handrail that ran on top of the bannister.

She removed her bonnet and then looked around for the hat stand but she couldn't see it. Rhett, himself now hatless, moved towards her.

"Allow me," he said as he held out his hand to take the headpiece from her. She gave it to him and he put it on the stand that had been obscured by his large body.

"Now Mrs Butler. I expect you to behave tonight," he said, as he turned back to face her. In the distance, she heard muffled voices and then high pitched laughter.

"I always behave," she said, irritated by his patronising tone.

He frowned, disbelieving her. "I believe my mother has guests this evening and she will be expecting us to join her. Just…er…smile sweetly and eat whatever you can and then you can retire to your bedroom."

"How can she be expecting us? Or me?"

"Your aunt Eulalie, Scarlett." Just then, Scarlett heard a big belly guffaw and she turned her head to where the noise had come from. There was something very familiar about its gruff and hearty undertones, but she couldn't place it. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks. Charleston had always haunted her. She couldn't remember ever having been more unhappy in a place – or more bored.

She pivoted round to her husband. She didn't owe him or anyone else her company and she really was in no mood to be sociable with anyone. Or to put up with the discerning looks that would no doubt be thrown in her direction or the whispers about why the wronged wife had turned up after all these months. In any event, she was exhausted. She had only managed to sleep for about three hours in the last thirty-six hours.

"Rhett. I really am rather tired," she began. "As much as I would like to see Miss Eleanor, I fear that I would fall asleep at the table." She stumbled on. "If…if…you wouldn't mind, I would like to go to bed and save my "hellos" for the morning. Now, if you would be so kind as to show me to my room, I can take my supper-"

"No Scarlett." He caught her gaze and for a moment neither blinked. In the soft light, he looked like the old Rhett. Smooth, debonair, in control. Then Scarlett cast her eyes downwards, aware of a semi-dormant desire firing up again. She didn't want him, did she? She hated him. Hadn't he just heaped fresh humiliation on her by taking up with this _Hélène_? Any desire she felt, was probably a desire to kill him. Oh God, why did this man continue to confuse her, even after thirteen tortured years? "Don't ask me to be…er…kind…" he whispered. "I've never been _kind _to you before and I am not about to start now. They'll be on their main course already. You'll be done in an hour."

Scarlett sighed. "But Rhett, please-"

"Come on Scarlett," he said softly, encouragingly. "This is Charleston. It would be rude if you just slipped off upstairs without greeting Mother and her guests."

"Who is your mother entertaining?"

"I have no idea. Does it matter?"

"Yes…no…I suppose not." Which was partly true. They would have just been names anyway – she wouldn't know them. She wouldn't know whether they would be hostile or welcoming towards her. And more importantly, she wouldn't know what they knew about the rumours circulating about Rhett and his French ballerina.

Reluctantly, Scarlett let Rhett take her arm and place it through his. Then, he led her across the grand hallway, the flooring the same soft oak that she had recently laid in her own hallway back home in Atlanta. For a moment, they stood outside the dining room and then he reached for the door knob.

"Rhett," she whispered, her eyes turned to his, pleading. "I can't go in. I'm not wearing black."

Rhett looked at her for a few moments, deliberating her statement. He then shrugged. "Grey will do, Scarlett. You can wear black tomorrow and for the remainder of your visit."

"But I-"

Rhett opened the door and walked in. Scarlett swallowed hard, before she trailed in behind him, thankful for the initial shield of his body.

The conversation abruptly stopped and all four pairs of eyes swivelled towards the new arrivals.

"Darlings!" exclaimed Eleanor, pushing back her chair and rushing over to greet them. "Scarlett darling," and she warmly kissed Scarlett on both cheeks. Then she whispered, "I'm so, so, sorry for your loss my dear. Such a sweet girl. I'm so sorry"

"Thank you, Miss Eleanor," murmured Scarlett. "It's all come as rather a shock."

"Of course it has, my dear. A terrible shock. So sudden. But you're with us now. We'll look after you and help you get through the next few days." Then the old lady took Scarlett's hand and squeezed it before she turned to her son.

"It's as well that you came back from New Orleans, Rhett, when you did. Otherwise, I don't quite know what Scarlett would have done. You got my telegram then?"

"Yes Mother," replied Rhett as he leaned in to kiss Eleanor. He shifted awkwardly and then cleared his throat. "Sorry we are late for supper. Scarlett had to attend to some matters at her aunts and sort out the funeral. We hurried over just as quickly as we could."

"Of course you did. It's no problem. I'm just pleased you're both here. I'll have Mary bring in plates for you," and Eleanor rang the bell.

Rhett moved to the table and unblocked Scarlett's view. She quickly scanned the room and for the second time in less than an hour, she gasped. "Uncle Henry! What on earth are you doing here?"

Even amongst his whiskers, she could see him blush. "Well, I…" and as he stammered, Scarlett glanced at Miss Eleanor who had begun to nervously wring her hands. What the devil was going on? Why was Uncle Henry here? Had Rhett known all along?

"Henry," said Rhett, stepping in to breach the hush and awkwardness that had enveloped the room. He walked over to where the older gentleman was seated. "Good to see you again. What a pleasant surprise."

"I…er…had some business in Charleston to attend to," Henry replied, quickly trying to compose himself. "And so I decided to pay a call on your mother and she very kindly invited me to supper."

"Business?" Scarlett said. "What sort of business?" What _business _could he possibly have in another state?

"Never you mind my dear. Now, aren't you going to come and give your old Uncle a kiss, Scarlett?" Scarlett walked over to him and dutifully obliged, her mind swirling with the meaning of his presence. Why was he really in Charleston? Was this his first visit to Charleston since Miss Eleanor's visit in June or had he slipped out of Atlanta before? It made no sense to her at all.

"Scarlett is my niece," Uncle Henry continued, turning to the two other guests. "She was married to my own nephew, Charles Hamilton, years ago and he rather tragically died at the beginning of the war. What er…a wonderful surprise to see you, even if it's under such sad circumstances. I'm sorry for your loss Scarlett. Is the funeral tomorrow?"

Scarlett nodded.

"Well, I'll come with you," Henry said.

"We'll all go with you, my dear," piped in Eleanor.

Suddenly she felt Rhett's hand brush over hers and then he tugged at her fingers. She looked up at him as he pulled her towards a grey-haired middle-aged woman. "Darling," drooled Rhett, his voice sickly sycophantic. "This is Mrs Whitehead, a good friend of Mother's. Mrs Whitehead, this is my wife, Scarlett." They shook hands, Scarlett feeling vaguely uncomfortable as the lady's eyes bored into her.

"Pleased to meet you," Scarlett muttered, remembering her manners.

Turning to the other remaining gentleman in the room Rhett made a similar introduction.

"Delighted to meet you, Mrs Butler," Mr Whitehead said as he stood up, trying to straighten his stoop. "I am surprised that Rhett has been spending so much time in Charleston recently. If I had you in-"

"Yes, well. I have had a lot of business to attend to," Rhett interrupted. Business! Scarlett mused. What a useful word that was becoming! "Besides which," Rhett continued, "We are both great believers in the old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Aren't we darling?"

"Yes. Yes. That's right," she stammered wishing she had the courage to call him out. "Something like that."

"Now, darling," said Miss Eleanor, who could read the growing tension between her son and daughter-in-law. "Why don't you take this seat next to me and Rhett can sit next to Matthew and Georgina."

As she took her place, Scarlett looked at Mrs Whitehead again. Georgina Whitehead. Was she _the _Georgina whom those old gossips had talked about on the train, the one who was responsible for spreading the news that Rhett was moving to Paris?

Scarlett sat quietly at the table, only speaking when she was asked a question directly, but otherwise trying to eavesdrop on the conversation that her husband was conducting with the Whiteheads. Only once did her ears prick up, when she heard the word Paris but when she listened more intently, it was only Rhett talking about one of his trips to the French city during the war. After a while, she gave up straining to hear and instead observed her uncle and Rhett's mother. Uncle Henry was a different person around her, full of old, humorous anecdotes and a gentleness that Scarlett had only seen brief glimpses of when he was around Wade and Beau and, even though there were four other people in the room, he only had eyes for Miss Eleanor.

When supper was over, Scarlett excused herself.

"I'll show you upstairs, darling," Rhett said as she stood up and said good night.

She wanted to retort that she would be perfectly fine and would ask Mary to show her to her room, but instead she feigned a smile and followed her husband out of the room. When they were safely out of earshot from their host and guests, Scarlett turned to Rhett.

"Did you know that Uncle Henry was going to be here?"

"No," he replied as he led her up the staircase.

"Has he…er…visited your mother before?"

"Last month. At the end of July. On a similar pretext as he espoused earlier this evening. Why?

"I'm just curious." She mulled over the facts in her mind. Was her uncle courting Miss Eleanor, if courting was what you called it when you were their age? "He never told me he had visited Charleston or that he was coming this time."

"Maybe he wanted to keep his private life, private, Scarlett? You're not generally known for your discretion."

She ignored his slight, and carried on walking up the stairs. When they reached the top, she yawned. "Where am I sleeping, Rhett?" Scarlett asked.

"Where do you want to sleep?" he replied and raised his eyebrows suggestively at her. She shot him a look of disdain. Was he implying that they should share a room? After everything that had happened between them?

"As far away from you as possible, please. Your mother knows our…erm…situation so we don't need to pretend."

"No. I don't suppose we do. Apart from our great pretence to the outside world that we still have some sort of marriage left, I long ago ceased _pretending."_

The bitterness of his tone, jolted Scarlett. _"_Like you used to pretend that you didn't love me?" Scarlett said caustically.

"I never exactly _pretended _that I didn't love you, Scarlett. I just didn't tell you. And you were too blind to see it. No, I was remembering about how I used to pretend that I was married to you a long time before I was." Scarlett's eyes darted up to his tanned face. But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking straight ahead, with the same dazed expression that he had worn at the end of their carriage journey earlier in the evening.

"How so?" Scarlett whispered.

"When I was blockading and I would bring you gifts. I often told the merchants that they were for my wife. Or my fiancée." He shook his head. "But that's all a long time ago. Now, Scarlett," he said as they walked past the door to a room that was slightly ajar. "This is my bedroom. In case you wonder. And this, my pet," he said, taking a few more steps down the corridor, "Is yours."

He flung the door ceremoniously open and stood on the threshold as she went in. She knew, without being told, that this was the ivory bedroom. It was perhaps the most beautiful bedroom she had ever seen and she stood still for a moment, taking it all in. The walls were ivory – which gave the room its name - and the bedspread was an intricate off-white lace, with cream and pale pink cushions scattered on it. It was the furniture that really took Scarlett's breath away. She went over to the exquisitely carved bed and touched the mother of pearl inlay that had been chiselled into the edges and then she did the same with the vanity and the chaise longue.

"Is the furniture French?" she asked.

"Yes. I bought it over from Paris for my mother, just before we married."

"Before we married?" she repeated.

"I was foolish enough to think that we might visit my mother from time to time." Their eyes locked for a few seconds and then Scarlett walked towards the French windows that led on to a small, wrought iron balcony. She peered out. The moon was just about high enough that she could see the large expanse of lawn, leading down to the river. What a graceful and calming place Wickliffe House was.

"Thank you, Rhett," she said, turning back to him. "I'm sure I'll be very comfortable here."

"You'll find a nightgown and whatever else you might need for the night in the vanity drawers. My…cousin…was going to spend some time with us a while ago but at the last minute she didn't come. My mother had bought a few items to make her stay more comfortable. She's a similar build to you. You should use them. At least for tonight. I'll send Clarence to get your belongings first thing in the morning. You'll have them before breakfast." Scarlett didn't say anything. She knew he was lying. Was it too difficult for him to admit that he had bought the vanity items and nightgown for her? She looked at him quizzically, wondering what was going through his mind. But his face was blank. She sighed. It was hopeless. She might have known him for thirteen years but she was as unable to read him now as she had been on the first day they had met.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Good night, Rhett."

"Good night, Scarlett. I'll see you in the morning."

_Hmm - so I think maybe I didn't do a very good job on this. Rhett isn't being mean here or cruel - he is speaking in riddles a bit at the beginning because that is always how he speaks; but otherwise he is always speaking softly to her. Perhaps I got Scarlett wrong here - as Dixie pointed out - maybe she would have just shown everyone that Rhett was her man and to hell with Helene! But I don't want Scarlett to humiliate herself or beg - I don't think Scarlett ever really humiliated herself in GWTW apart from the jail scene (and maybe her scenes with Ashley?). _


	34. Chapter 34

_I fear that this chapter jars a bit._ _I know it can be improved but for those of you who are still following this story, I thought I should just post. Like Dixie, __I am getting bored with my story (but not GWTW) and worried that if I don't move it along, I will never finish it. _

_Thanks Wiolka for your prompts and your review (I did google translate). Thanks to Ondine, Alison, LMS, Dixie for their encouragement and to everyone else who reads and reviews. Believe me, if no one read it, I would have given up a long time ago because I know how this story finishes but writing it has its challenges!_

Chapter 34

Rhett was as good as his word. By the time Scarlett awoke, her trunks were in her bedroom, her clothes all hung up in the large walk-in closet and her hat boxes were laid out on a shelf. It was as if an elf had worked his magic whilst she had slept, although Scarlett knew that only Mammy would have dared enter her bedroom chamber uninvited.

Scarlett stretched out in the huge, luxurious bed, having enjoyed her first decent night's sleep in weeks. Cumulative exhaustion – from weeks of planning and worry about her trip to Charleston and from being woken up by Mrs Merriwether before the birds had even finished their morning chorus - had finally caught up with her. Her body had hardly moved an inch during the night, leaving half the bed as pristine and uncrumpled as when she had first climbed into it.

There was a gentle tap on the door and Mammy entered, carrying a tray of piping hot coffee and freshly made eggs, next to a small vase of roses.

"'Mornin' Miss Scarlett," Mammy greeted as she shuffled in, her grey taffeta petticoat peeping out underneath her ebony dress.

"I wish it wasn't morning," Scarlett grumbled. Then she yawned and closed her eyes to the intruding sunlight that was peeping through the cracks in the portieres. "I feel as though I could sleep for a few more hours."

"Den yud be late for Miss Carreen. Ah get yo bath ready, Miss Scarlett, while you eat."

"I'm not hungry, Mammy."

"You must eat, Miss Scarlett. You need strength fer today."

"But I'm not-"

"Miss Scarlett! Please." Mammy settled the tray down on the coverlet, took the starched napkin out of its ring and handed it to her mistress. Scarlett begrudgingly took it and sat up in bed. "Miss Scarlett, Ahs not leavin' until ah see you put sum fud in yo mouth." Scarlett sighed and scooped up some egg.

"You see? I'm eating," said Scarlett in a surly tone. Then she looked up at Mammy's disapproving face and into her large, black eyes that seemed ready to burst into tears and immediately felt guilty for being difficult. Carreen was part of her family too. "I'm sorry Mammy," Scarlett whispered. "And I'm sorry too that we couldn't stay at the hotel. It's tiring moving from one place to another but Rhett insisted."

"Ahs not sorry. Dis is where we shud ha been in der first place, Miss Scarlett. Ah tried ter tell you so. Mist' Rhett an' Clarence come ter the hotel early dis mornin' an' not a moment too soon. Dis is where Ah belong. Wid you and Mist' Rhett." She plumped herself down on the bed. "Now, Miss Scarlett, Miss Suellen come to Charleston las' night an she stay wid Miss 'Lalie an Miss Pauline. Ah want no trouble from you two today. Miss Ellen will turn in her grave if you two are nasty wid each other."

"I never start the arguments, Mammy," pouted Scarlett.

"Mebbe. But you sho don't try an end 'em," and Mammy shot Scarlett one of her discerning looks.

Scarlett hadn't seen Suellen since she had spent three weeks at Tara immediately after Melly's funeral. They had both managed to maintain a civil discourse until the penultimate evening when Suellen had broken rank and, irritated by Scarlett's sudden elevation of Melly to the highest pedestal, had started calling Scarlett all sorts of names. In retaliation, Scarlett had called Suellen a father killer and it was only Will's and Mammy's swift intervention that had prevented the sisters from engaging in full on fisticuffs.

"Now, Ahs go an fix yo bath. De funer'l in two hours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett was sitting in the ivory bedroom fixing the last pins in her hair, when Rhett entered. He was in a dark charcoal suit – almost black – the same clothes he had worn to Bonnie's funeral almost a year earlier. But he wasn't wearing the ghostly expression that he had worn twelve months ago, nor were his eyes puffy or bloodshot. And he wasn't looking at Scarlett with hatred.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes thank you," Scarlett replied. "Much better than I expected."

"Good."

He walked over to the windows and looked out over the gardens, towards the river. When he didn't speak any further, Scarlett turned back to the mirror, and smoothed her hair with her fingers. They were like strangers again, thought Scarlett. Polite, courteous, strangers and she wondered why he was even bothering to go to Carreen's funeral. He had never met her and he could have easily made his excuses and absented himself from today's events. But then she thought of Miss Eleanor. Miss Eleanor would have made him come – she was probably the one person in this world that could make him do things he would rather not.

"I had forgotten what a beautiful view of the river this room has," he said suddenly, as Scarlett adjusted a brooch on her throat. "It was this bedroom that sold me the house. I've always liked to see or hear water. Even if it is Charlestonian water."

"If you like the view so much, why didn't you make this your room then? Why don't you sleep in here?"

"With you?" he asked and although he kept his face hidden, she knew he was goading her.

"Not with me!" she chided, trying – and failing – to feel affronted. "I mean, after I've gone, why don't you move in here?"

He didn't say anything but instead stood still, facing the window.

Scarlett turned back to her mirror. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask although she wasn't quite sure that she was feeling brave enough to hear the answers. But then perhaps, hearing the truth might help her move on. Might help them both move on.

She steeled herself. "Rhett, why did you never bring me here?" she asked quietly, hoping that her tone wasn't accusatory. "Why did I never meet your mother until...Bonnie…until last year?" He didn't even flinch and she wondered if he had heard her. "I…I wouldn't have minded visiting Charleston from time to time. I wouldn't have minded getting to know your mother properly. If that was what you had wanted."

There was a deathly silence that seemed to go on for minutes. Finally, he replied, "I'm not sure that's what I did want, Scarlett."

Scarlett continued. It was easier talking to him when he wasn't looking at her. "It's as though you deliberately kept us apart. Your mother and I. Why did you never invite her to Atlanta to stay with us? It would have been…nice…to have got to know her sooner than I did. You had no qualms about introducing her to Bonnie and…well, I was Bonnie's mother…and…" She swallowed. "And your wife."

He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her as though he was trying to ascertain whether there was an underlying meaning to her question. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Pride, I suppose."

Scarlett slowly nodded, understanding. She had been right. "Because we weren't sleeping together, you mean?"

"Yes," he said simply. And then he added almost in a whisper. "I didn't want her to see that her son's wife couldn't even bear for him to touch her. And I didn't want her to wonder why – or for her to hear that her daughter-in-law was in love with someone who was not me. So I thought it best if I kept you two apart."

As his words sunk in, Scarlett felt her eyes prick with tears. Not just because she felt sad – sad at another missed opportunity – but because she felt shame. Ashamed of her behaviour. Ashamed of breaking their marital pact. He had been right. He _had_ kept his side of their deal and she had reneged on her part of the bargain in a fit of misguided self-indulgence. What had she given him in their marriage except Bonnie and a broken heart?

"I was such a fool," Scarlett whispered. "And too proud. Too proud to admit I had made a mistake."

Rhett turned round fully to face her. "Maybe. But I've come to realise over these last few months that I was a bigger fool." He looked at her from where he was standing by the window and she thought she saw something a glint in his black eyes. "You were right, Scarlett. I didn't fight hard enough. And perhaps I didn't really fight at all. I finally had my prize – you - and then…" His voice trailed off. He sighed and then he glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "Well, anyway, there's no point ruminating over what might have been. It's a long time ago."

"Not that long ago, Rhett. We could…" He arched his eyebrows as though he was signalling for her to stop. He was right. There was no point going over old ground, talking about what they _could_ do if she had no part of his heart. If his life had already moved on.

He walked back over to where she was sitting. "Are you ready? Or do you need some more time?"

"I'm ready," she said, grabbing her mantilla and her bonnet from the chair and taking one last look in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks instinctively and then chastised herself. She wasn't going to some tea party. She was going to her sister's funeral. Who cared what she looked like?

"Where's Mammy?" Scarlett asked.

"Mammy's downstairs with Mother. Your uncle Henry is going to meet us at the convent." Rhett pushed the door open and Scarlett brushed past. As he pulled the door shut behind them, she thought she felt his hand touch the small of her back and being reminded of his physical proximity she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. "Thank you, Rhett," she said. "I appreciate you coming with me."

"I know how horrible funerals are of those you love. And more so when you have to go on your own." Her eyes darted up towards him as she heard pain in his voice. Who was he thinking of?

"Well, you've changed your tune since Melly's," Scarlett retorted remembering how he had stood apart from her at Melly's funeral and then left even before her body had been lowered into the ground. A flash of – guilt? – washed over him and she immediately wished she could recant. She didn't want to break their uneasy truce. "Sorry, Rhett. I shouldn't have-"

"No," he sighed. "You're right to reprimand me. I'm not exactly proud of my behaviour that day. But I promise I won't repeat that performance today. I'll be by your side. Especially as Mammy tells me Suellen is in town."

Suellen. Scarlett grimaced as she was reminded of her sister. Why hadn't God taken Suellen if he had had to take one of her sisters?

Scarlett hitched her skirt up as she walked down the staircase, Rhett's guiding hand on her back. The windows and shutters were wide open, ruffling the sticky heat and providing a subtle breeze.

"There you are," Miss Eleanor said looking up from where she stood with Mammy, as Scarlett and then Rhett, reached the bottom of the stairs.

Miss Eleanor tied her bonnet and then picked up her reticule from an exquisitely carved walnut table. "Now my darlings," she said, "I told Henry that Mammy and I would collect him from his hotel and then we would all go on to the convent. So we will take my carriage. And Rhett, you can take the buggy with Scarlett."

Scarlett shot Rhett a puzzled look and then spoke.

"Miss Eleanor. Really, there's no need to-"

"Mother," interrupted Rhett, realising what his mother was doing. "I'm sure we can all fit into one carriage."

Miss Eleanor raised her eyebrows. "Not all five of us, Rhett."

"It's been done be-"

"Rhett. Please don't disagree with me." A stern, no nonsense expression enveloped Miss Eleanor's face and Scarlett bit her lip to stifle a giggle. She had never seen anyone disagree with Rhett and win before. "Not today of all days. Scarlett doesn't want to have her dress all…scrunched up…before she even gets to the convent. We'll all be too…er…squashed….if there are five of us. No, it would be much better for all of us if you drive Scarlett in the buggy and I'll take the carriage and collect Henry from his hotel."

Rhett didn't move and Miss Eleanor gestured towards the front door. "Go on. Please Rhett. Clarence has the buggy all reined up. We should all get going otherwise we'll be late. And that won't do." Rhett pursed his lips as though he was about to say something and then shook his head.

"Alright Mother," he finally muttered.

Without looking at his wife, he opened the front door and walked out into the steamy heat, with Scarlett, having been handed a parasol by Miss Eleanor, trailing behind him. Glancing back over her shoulder, Scarlett thought she saw Miss Eleanor wink at Mammy but when she looked again, Mammy had already disappeared from view. Perhaps she had imagined it. But there was something in both her mother-in-law's demeanour and Mammy's huddled stance that suggested duplicity.

Rhett took the reins of the buggy from Clarence and then helped his wife climb in. "I'm sorry about that Scarlett. I am sure you would have preferred to have been in the covered carriage."

"It doesn't matter." Scarlett said, opening the parasol. She smiled. "Is your mother the only person who can win any arguments with you?"

He grinned. "Mothers are the only females that are always right, Scarlett. Apart from Mammy. Mammy is always right too."

For most of the drive, they sat in silence with Rhett acknowledging the occasional passer-by. She tried to break the stilted air between them and started to prattle on about the weather, about the store and asked after Rosemary – who she discovered was on a tour travelling round Europe – but when he responded in monosyllables, Scarlett gave up and instead settled back onto the bench of the buggy, taking in the sights and smells of the city.

They arrived at the convent five minutes before Miss Eleanor, Uncle Henry and Mammy and were swiftly led into an ante-room to the chapel. Pauline, Eulalie and Carey were already there and with them was Suellen. Suellen shifted uncomfortably from side to side as Scarlett greeted her aunts and uncle before she turned to her sister. As Scarlett kissed Suellen, seemingly out of nowhere, Suellen started crying and gripped her sister in an awkward embrace. "It's just us now," she whispered into Scarlett's ear. "Ma, Pa, now Carreen. It's just us."

Temporarily startled and taken aback by Suellen's emotion, Scarlett felt her eyes water. She didn't trust her voice and merely nodded, thinking also of the three brothers her parents had buried.

"Poor, darling Carreen," Suellen said before her body heaved in a silent sob.

"I'm pleased you made it, Sue," Scarlett said genuinely, and as Suellen drew Scarlett in to an even tighter embrace, it was as if all the years of sibling bickering and rivalry had vanished.

"Will couldn't come," Suellen said, her voice croaking. "He had to look after the children." Then she leaned in closer to Scarlett. "He didn't want me to come because I'm five months gone but I insisted." Scarlett smiled and then looked at her sister more closely who was swathed in a thick cape, despite the heat. When would women be able to walk around pregnant without it being inappropriate, without them having to disguise their figures?

"Congratulations," said Scarlett feeling a pang of jealousy before she looked across at Rhett who was conversing with one of the sisters. Would she ever be blessed with a child, his child? she wondered. It seemed as remote a possibility as Carreen walking out from her coffin alive.

They were led into the small chapel, where Carreen's body had already been brought in. A score of nuns had filled the back pews, all draped in rosaries and murmuring prayer. The family and Mammy were led to the front and Scarlett dropped to the kneeler and began to recite the Our Father and Hail Mary, before her mind wandered to Carreen and death and Bonnie and the significance of tomorrow. _If only_.

The Mass was shorter than she had expected and afterwards, Mother Josephine invited them into a side room for some tea. Scarlett drifted in and out of the various hushed conversations and merely smiled when she was required to but otherwise relied on others to talk and to be polite to the women who had become part of Carreen's own family.

After a while, the Mother came over to Scarlett and Rhett. The Mother, too, in her youth had travelled round Europe and she and Rhett soon found that they shared a love of Italian art. Scarlett was only part listening – never having heard of most of the artists that they were keen to rattle off - until she heard the Mother ask about whether they had any children.

Scarlett took in a breath, wondering how her husband would respond. "Yes," he replied clearing his throat. He looked at his wife and then took her hand in his. "Well Scarlett has children from her earlier marriages. Our own daughter died last year." Scarlett studied her husband as the Mother offered her condolences. He had barely winced. Was that the first time she had heard Rhett talk of their daughter in such absolute terms? Usually, he spoke of Bonnie having _gone_ – as though she had only disappeared for a while – or spoke of an accident, and let the listeners piece together the tragedy . She squeezed his hand and then she felt him squeeze hers back. Then, Miss Eleanor walked over and spoke in her undemanding, soft voice.

"Darlings. It's nearly one o'clock. I think we should leave these wonderful women to get on with the rest of their day. I've invited your Aunts and Uncles, Scarlett, and Suellen, to our house for a late dinner."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They ate dinner late and it was after four o'clock before Mary cleared the plates and poured some tea. Rhett was present physically but hardly spoke and whenever Scarlett looked up at him, he seemed in his own world. She knew he would be thinking of Bonnie. How could he not be? And once again, two words of regret sprung to her mind. If only. _If only_.

The women and Carey retired to the parlour whilst Rhett and Henry excused themselves. Scarlett tried to converse with her aunts, but her heart wasn't in it. All she could think about was death. And Carreen. And Bonnie.

Suellen too seemed lost in her own thoughts. She, too, had barely spoken at dinner, allowing the older generation to carry the conversation although the disapproving looks that she had thrown in Rhett's direction had not gone unnoticed by Scarlett – even if they had puzzled her.

"You'll have to come and visit us at Tara again, Scarlett," said Suellen, when the conversation had lulled to a stilted silence. "I know the children would love to see their cousins."

"Yes. Perhaps at Christmas," offered Scarlett, not really intending to commit the family.

"I still can't believe she's gone," said Suellen in a hushed tone, her voice breaking again and tears beginning to trickle down her sallow cheeks. Suellen had always been closer to Carreen, Scarlett mused as she reached out and placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on her sister's arm. They had shared the nursery at Tara for far longer than Scarlett and Sue had ever shared it. They had gone to parties together, they had played with the same county friends, they had gone through the war together, they had got sick together, they had mourned their lost friends and beaux together.

"I know, Sue. It's all rather surreal. But we're O'Haras and we'll get through it. Somehow, we'll get through it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As dusk settled, Miss Eleanor ordered Mary to prepare a light supper for her guests, even though no one was hungry and Carey was quite ready to return home. Rhett and Henry reappeared just as the food was being served– with a stale smell of liquor on their breaths.

Rhett sat next to his wife but once again, barely spoke, and whenever Scarlett glanced in his direction, she was met with the same empty, glassy stare that he had worn earlier in the day. It was only when Henry told the gathered throng about the bakery fire that he awoke from his daze.

"How did the fire start?" Rhett abruptly asked.

"A cat knocked over a candle," Henry replied.

"A cat?"

"Apparently so."

There was another pause. "No one was hurt though." Scarlett volunteered. "Well, that's not strictly true I guess. Mrs Merriwether broke her leg but it wasn't because of the fire. A shelving unit had fallen on her."

"Good God, one of those heavy oak units that she keeps her pans on?" Rhett enquired, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

"Yes," replied Uncle Henry. Another silence.

"It was Wade that noticed the fire," added Scarlett. "You would have been proud of him, Rhett. I certainly was. He drove our buggy all by himself with Ella and went and raised Uncle Henry."

He looked at his wife. "Where were you?" She felt admonishment in his tone.

"I hadn't just left Wade and Ella travelling around Atlanta on their own Rhett," Scarlett shot back defensively, forgetting that they were in a room full of people. More softly, she said, "I went to see if anyone was trapped in the bakery."

"You went into the burning bakery?" he asked, leaning towards her, his whole body facing her.

"Well, sort of," Scarlett said, feeling bashful talking about her own heroics. "The fire was at the front and I went round to the back. And I saw Mrs Merriwether and managed to pull her out."

"You must be quite Atlanta's heroine."

Scarlett shrugged. "Well, I did what anyone else would have done."

"She _is_ Atlanta's heroine," Henry said. "She and Wade were the talk of the town for at least a week, Rhett. It's nice to hear good things said about my family for a change."

Suellen, who had been listening to the exchange, suddenly spoke. "You were always…rash…with your actions, Scarlett. Acting before you think. Marrying God knows who at the drop of a hat." She looked disparagingly at Rhett. "But I've come to believe that if you hadn't always acted as you did, well… people…might have died – Mrs Merriwether amongst them - and I would certainly be homeless."

"Is that your roundabout way of forgiving Scarlett for marrying Frank, Suellen?" Rhett asked, his eyes flashing with malice.

"Rhett, please," said Scarlett in a hushed tone, embarrassed that Miss Eleanor was privy to the conversation. The less Miss Eleanor knew about her marital history, the better.

"Ladies. Rhett. Henry. Carey. Let's all go through to the parlour to take our tea," said Miss Eleanor, aware of the tension that was beginning to pervade the room.

Everyone but Scarlett and Suellen stood up. "We'll be in shortly," said Suellen, placing a determined hand on Scarlett's arm. When they were alone, Suellen spoke again.

"I've wanted to say this for a while, Scarlett. After you came to visit us in October, I wished I could have taken back some of what I had said." Scarlett looked at her sister quizzically, not entirely sure where the conversation was leading.

"Remember you can't unsay what you say, Sue," warned Scarlett, as she felt her heart beat faster. She was in no mood for any further accusations – especially as she had thought that some of their old squabbles had been buried along with Carreen.

Suellen drew in her breath and bit her lip. Then she spoke. "I'm not sure that I can ever exactly _forgive_ you, Scarlett, for marrying Frank, but I understand now why you did what you did. And things haven't worked out too badly for me. I've come to love Will and we are…happy together – although all these children are exhausting. I hope this is the last one. But you know men. You've lived with three of them." She patted her stomach. "Always wanting a baby. I swear it's some sort of virility contest."

Scarlett winced. How she would love another baby! Several more children if she could. "I guess we should both be grateful for what we have."

"Are you though? Grateful, I mean? Are you happy? Will and I have worried about you. Ever since…October…"

"There's nothing to worry about Sue. I'm fine."

"But are you happy though?"

"Does it matter?" snapped Scarlett, irritated at the line of questioning.

"But what do you have? Apart from money?"

"I have the children, I have my store-"

"Yes but…"

Scarlett took in a deep breath. "What do you mean, Sue?"

"Well…I have to say I am surprised that you are staying here and that your husband is here."

"Where would you expect me to stay?" said Scarlett warily.

Suellen took a sip of her tea before she turned to her sister again. "Are you and Rhett…are you living together again?"

"Well I…" she briefly wondered if she could lie and get away with it. She decided she couldn't. "No," she said quietly.

"I've never particularly liked him, Scarlett. Although I can understand why you married him. I mean, he must be one of the richest men in the South. But it's not surprising you can't continue to live with him after he killed your baby." For a brief moment, Scarlett wondered if she was talking about the baby she had miscarried. Suellen must have seen the confused frown on Scarlett's face. "Bonnie," Suellen clarified.

"He didn't-"

"As good as, Scarlett. Mother didn't even let us ride a horse until we were five years old and from memory, we weren't allowed to do anything other than go for a trot until we were nearly eight. He killed Bonnie."

Suddenly, Scarlett heard the sound of someone pivoting round and walking away. Scarlett glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw Uncle Henry standing on the threshold and the disappearing back of Rhett.

"Oh God," Scarlett exclaimed. She pushed her chair back and looked angrily at her sister. "Sue. What have you done?" She stood up. "Did you hear?" Scarlett demanded to her Uncle.

"I heard what your sister said," replied Uncle Henry. "And as Rhett was standing next to me and is now not standing next to me, I expect he heard too." Panic suddenly filled Scarlett's senses.

"Sue! I can't believe that you said what you said. No one thinks Rhett killed Bonnie. It was just a horrible, horrible accident."

Sue smirked. "If that's what you want to tell yourself, then keep telling yourself that."

"It's the truth!" cried Scarlett. "No one could have stopped the accident. No one!"

"You've accused me of killing Pa," replied Suellen, her voice rising in pitch and volume. "Many a time. And you were right! Isn't it the same?"

"No! It's not the same. I couldn't have stopped Bonnie. Rhett couldn't have stopped Bonnie."

"And I couldn't have stopped Pa from taking that jump either Scarlett!" Then Suellen burst into tears and Scarlett felt the own familiar rising sobs in her own throat. "Why do you blame me for Pa dying and yet you don't tar your husband with the same brush?" Suellen croaked.

"I don't blame you, Sue!"

"Yes you do! You've said it on enough occasions."

As Scarlett tried to blink away her own tears, she felt Uncle Henry touch her shoulder. "Scarlett," he whispered. "You need to go after your husband. He went out of the back door."

"I can't-"

"You can and you must. You're the only other person who can even possibly comprehend what he is feeling. You're his wife. And Bonnie's mother." He gently nudged her towards the exit whilst Suellen continued to sit at the table, head in her arms, shaking with her sobbing. Scarlett looked back at her sibling. "I'll sort out your sister. Go on."

Scarlett sloped out of the room, feeling miserable. Suellen had been right. She had accused her on plenty of occasions –maybe not always directly, but she had certainly slipped in little barbs over the years – and she knew that her father's fall, like Bonnie's, had been a terrible accident. She could see that now. Now that her mind wasn't befuddled with grief or hatred.

She stepped out into the back garden, the path down to the river lit up with gas lanterns. She stood for a moment, scanning for her husband but she couldn't see him. Perhaps he had already gone off into town. Perhaps he had gone to visit Hélène – wherever she was. Whoever she was. Or perhaps he had elected to get drunk with old friends at the local saloon. After all, he had been well on his way to losing his sobriety when he had sat down for supper.

Then she saw his large figure, cutting across the lawn, walking slowly towards the river and she felt her heart jump into her throat.

She ran after him and when she was a few yards away, she stopped quickly and gulped in the cooling air. What was she going to say to him, if he would even allow her to speak? She saw him pick up a handful of stones and then throw them across the water. Eight, nine, ten jumps they made before they descended into the darkness, leaving small ripples.

She smoothed her hair and then crept up behind him, the crackling of dry twigs and leaves announcing her presence. He turned round and caught her eye before he turned back to the water and continued to throw stones into the water.

"I'm sorry about Suellen," Scarlett said after a while.

"Why are you sorry? She spoke the truth," he said bitterly.

"What are you talking about? No she did-"

"Yes she did, Scarlett. I killed her. I don't need her – or you for that matter – to tell me. I know I did. I killed her. Not directly – just as your sister didn't kill your father directly. But I killed her just the same. And the irony is that I ended up killing her because I wanted to get back at _you_." He dragged his hand through his jet hair. "I wanted her to love me more than you. And so I gave in to her every whim, even when common sense should have told me it was madness. Even if what she was asking to do was dangerous. I was incapable of denying her anything. Especially if you had told her "no". All the time, I spoiled her. Not just because I loved her so much but because it was a way of getting back at _you_. I wanted to spite _you_. You were right! She should never have been on a horse in the first place-"

"Rhett! I wasn't right-"

"-Let alone have been jumping. I remember her running in to my bedroom one day crying because you had told her that she couldn't jump and I overruled you. Just because I could. Not because I disagreed with your sentiments. But because I thought that she would love me that little bit more if I said "yes" when you had said "no". So yes, I killed her." He paused. "I killed her because I _hated_ you."

His words stung as though he had slapped her face. "I made you hate me that much?" she said, unable to hide the pain in her voice.

"No! You made me _love_ you that much!" he cried out. "As I've said before, Scarlett, there's a thin line between love and hate."

"If you hated me that much it's because I made you hate me, Rhett. It's my fault," Scarlett said her voice quivering.

He flicked his eyes up to her and she saw that they were swimming in water. And then he turned away again, and picked up another bunch of stones, skimming them across the small white caps that were glistening in the early moonlight.

"No, it's _my_ fault. It's _my _fault she's dead. I wanted to hurt you, Scarlett because you had hurt me so much. And I used Bonnie to hurt you. As I told you in October, I don't know why my ban from our bedroom hurt so much but it did! It wounded my pride more than I should have ever let it. You didn't kick either of your other husbands out of your bed did you?"

Suddenly, Scarlett remembered how she had resolved that Ella would be her last child and that she had every intention of keeping Frank at arms' length. But he had died before she had put her plan into action. "No but I was hardly married to them! I expect I would have done! I had decided I didn't want any more children and I-"

"If it was really all about children and not having any more, there could have been things we could have-"

"It was about not having any more children, Rhett. At least, in part-"

He cut her off. "I knew that our…sleeping arrangements were the talk of the town. They were certainly the talk of the saloons and poker tables. And I just let it happen. I just rolled over and acquiesced to your stupid demand!" He let out a strangled groan and for a moment, Scarlett wasn't sure if he was crying. Then the noise ceased and he turned back to the river and again, the only sound that could be heard was the soft plop of the stones into the water.

Oh, this was so difficult, Scarlett thought. A hundred times more difficult than anything she had had to do before! She had never been very comforting. It was one of her many failures as a person but somehow, she wanted - needed - to reach out to this large, proud man, this man who had done so much for her, even if he didn't equate it with kindness. Slowly, she inched towards him and then she reached out and gently touched his back. He flinched ever so slightly but he didn't try to shake her away.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked softly.

"I'm going into town to take care of some business. And I have a meeting at a bank."

"Of course," Scarlett murmured. She looked back towards the house, ablaze with light. Should she just go back? Was her presence irritating him? But she couldn't leave him like this! Even if he might hate her. She had to _try_.

"Tomorrow's going to be difficult, Rhett," she started, not entirely sure what she wanted to say. "Perhaps, well, I was wondering if perhaps you didn't _have_ to go to the bank tomorrow and perhaps you and…I…well, perhaps…maybe you could show me your childhood haunts. Perhaps you can change my opinion of Charleston."

"That's a lot of perhaps, Scarlett."

He dropped the unthrown stones and turned around to look at her. With the shadows of the night, she couldn't tell if he was mocking her or if he was even listening to her.

"It was just an idea, Rhett," she said hurriedly, unsure of herself. Unsure of exactly what she was offering. "If you would rather be on your own or…with someone else…" Her voice trailed off as the spectre of Hélène flitted through her mind. "I just…well...I think I am going to find it difficult and…" Melly's words after Bonnie had died flashed through her mind. _Only in the arms of Bonnie's mother will Captain Butler be able to find comfort, Scarlett_. She touched Rhett's arm again. "I thought we could try and get through tomorrow together, Rhett."

"I'm not sure I understand your motive, Scarlett."

"My what?"

"Your motive. Your reasons."

"Rhett…I…" He had temporarily stumped her. What was he talking about? "I don't have a motive Rhett. Other than that I don't want to see you hurt. Or hurting. And just wish I could make it better."

"This isn't like putting a bandage on Ella's knee when she has fallen over-"

"I know it's not, Rhett," said Scarlett, suddenly leery. Where had this viciousness come from? And then as if the wind had suddenly changed direction, he smiled at her benignly.

"It's a sweet offer, Scarlett. But I'm not sure. I'm not exactly sure _what_ I want to do. Other than wish that I could wake up tomorrow and for the pain to have disappeared."

"Me too," whispered Scarlett. "I wish that too."

He reached out and traced his thumb underneath her eyes, catching a sole tear that had escaped her left eye.

"I'll sleep on it and let you know in the morning."

_I am sure some of you will think that Suellen and Scarlett might not ever have reconciled – and this is meant to be something of a reconciliation. But they are older, wiser, more mature. And from my own experience, when you lose a sibling, you do perhaps appreciate your other siblings – even if you have had a tempestuous relationship before. Life seems too short._

_And I am not sure if Scarlett would have tried to put her foot down with Bonnie and her jumping, but I think that it could have happened like this. And I think Rhett wanted to spoil Bonnie- not just because he loved her but because he wanted Bonnie to love him more than anyone – including her mother. I think he could be very suffocating in his love – even if passively. Am I making sense?_

_I think the first anniversary of a loved one's death is so hard. And there is often dread of it coming up. And it is made worse here for both Rhett and Scarlett because they are stuck in Charleston – rather than in Atlanta – having to deal with Carreen's death._


	35. Chapter 35

_Sorry this wasn't posted before Christmas. Another very long chapter – again choppy, imperfect, stilted at times – so apologies for that. _

_Thank you to all of those that encourage me to continue. It is appreciated. _

_Belated Seasons Greeting/Happy Christmas to everyone and a happy new year too._

Chapter 35

When Scarlett awoke, it was past nine o'clock and the silence in the house suggested everyone else had long since started their day. She threw back the coverlet, put on her black velvet wrapper and slippers and padded anxiously down the wide hallway to Rhett's room and knocked. When he didn't answer, she tentatively opened it. He wasn't there and – more worryingly - it appeared as though he hadn't been there for a while. His bed had already been made, the curtains were pulled back and a window had been left ajar to air the room. He had already left –and then a horrible thought struck her. Perhaps he hadn't even slept here last night! Perhaps he hadn't followed her into the house after she had left him at the river. After she had left him to apologise to, and weep with, Suellen.

Scarlett ran down the staircase, her dark, tangled tresses flowing behind her, calling out for Miss Eleanor. But the house was empty apart from a tuneless humming. She followed the noise into the parlour and found Mary polishing the silver.

"Ef you is lookin' for Miss Eleanor, she out havin' some tea on the veranda," Mary said as she took in Scarlett's dishevelled appearance and frowned. "An' yo Mammy is wid Miss Eulalie an' Miss Suellen. She be bak soon."

"And Rhett?" Scarlett asked.

The maid shook her head. "Mista Rhett not here," she said and then she picked up a candlestick and starting rubbing it with an old wiry cloth which gave Scarlett her signal to leave.

Scarlett walked towards the back of the house and towards peels of soft laughter that had begun to drift through the open doors. She stepped outside and stood on the back stoop for a few moments whilst she allowed her eyes to adjust to the brightness. For a moment, she couldn't see anyone but then she spied Miss Eleanor sitting with a large, broad gentleman – who could only have been Uncle Henry - underneath a canopy in the far right corner, near the rose garden.

They both looked up as she hurried over, Miss Eleanor blushing like a young bride and Uncle Henry reaching for his handkerchief to try to conceal his own flushes of embarrassment.

"Scarlett darling," greeted Miss Eleanor after she had composed herself and smoothed out some imagined creases in her fawn day dress. "Good morning. You've slept in late. You must have needed it."

"I've slept in _too _late," she muttered. "Good morning Miss Eleanor. Good morning Uncle Henry." She remained rooted to the ground, suddenly shy about her inappropriate dress. She hadn't expected Uncle Henry to have been here at this hour – or at all - and she defensively crossed her arms in front of her chest. Had her uncle ever seen a woman without a corset and with so few clothes on?

"Why don't you come and join us for some tea? Have you taken breakfast yet?" Miss Eleanor asked.

"Thank you Miss Eleanor but I'm not hungry."

Scarlett looked at her uncle curiously. How close was he with Miss Eleanor? True, they had got on well in Atlanta – but had her mother-in-law made _that _much of an impression on him?

Eleanor must have seen Scarlett's bemused expression and cleared her throat. "Your…Uncle Henry…dropped by to see if I wanted to go to…the…ballet tonight. Isn't that kind of him to think of me?"

"Yes. Very kind," Scarlett said automatically, wondering how quickly she could bring up the subject of Rhett and where he was. Ordinarily, she might have been interested in Uncle Henry and Miss Eleanor's social life, but every second she was stuck here, forced to engage in inane chatter, was delaying her search for her husband.

"The daughter of an old friend of Carlton's used to be a ballerina," Miss Eleanor babbled on. "She's recently moved over from Paris and she has helped put on a production of La…La…Sylphide at the theatre. I think that's what it's called. And your uncle wondered if I wanted to go."

"And you, of course, Scarlett," said Uncle Henry in his unmistakeable gruff tone. "You and Rhett are welcome to come too."

"Wherever Rhett is," Scarlett muttered quietly.

"Sorry dear?" Miss Eleanor asked.

"Nothing…I…well…I think…" She was in no mood for anything as frivolous as a ballet. "Thank you Uncle Henry for the offer but I don't think it would be quite appropriate for me to go – what with Carreen and-"

"Aah yes. Yes of course," Uncle Henry blustered. "You are quite right."

"Maybe we shouldn't go?" suggested Miss Eleanor, looking at Henry.

"Don't be silly," said Scarlett. "You should go. And then you can tell me about it tomorrow."

For a few moments, Scarlett stared at the elderly woman, suddenly aware of the facial features that her husband shared with her – and that her daughter, too, had shared. The same same shaped eyes, the same straight nose, the same high forehead. Would Bonnie have aged like Miss Eleanor – if she had been allowed to get old? If she had been allowed to live?

"Where's Rhett, Miss Eleanor?" she finally asked.

Eleanor rubbed her hands together nervously. "I'm not entirely sure my dear. He left early this morning – about seven o'clock - just as I was taking breakfast."

"I see," said Scarlett. At least he had stayed in the house last night, she thought. But as she digested the news, any relief that came with knowing that he hadn't spent the night with another woman, evaporated and in its place she felt an ache. So he hadn't wanted to spend today with her, not even the morning and he obviously couldn't wait to escape her presence. She had thought that something had shifted last night between them, some of their own defences had crumbled, but she must have misread him.

Her expression must have betrayed her hurt. "Scarlett my dear. I think he just wanted to get on with his day-"

"Did he tell you where he went?" Scarlett mumbled.

Miss Eleanor exchanged an embarrassed look with Henry. "Not exactly."

"Well then," said Scarlett as she slumped into a chair, crushed, like a weary warrior that knows defeat. "He's just…" but her voice trailed off. She couldn't voice exactly what she thought of him to his mother. She couldn't scream and rail about how selfish he was, how today wasn't only about him. She swallowed her anger as she twisted her wedding ring absentmindedly. "I'll go over to Aunt 'Lalie's," she said after a while with a determined glint in her eye. "And I'll spend some time with Suellen. She'll be heading back this evening. And then I'll go to the train depot and arrange my own passage home. I should be getting back to Atlanta. I can't leave the children for long. Wade starts school again next week and I should be there." She bit her lip and turned away to look towards the river, her eyes falling on the same spot that she had stood with her husband just over twelve hours ago. Her eyes smarted with tears but she managed to hold them back. He wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. Who cared if he was hurting today? How naïve of her to think that she might have been able to comfort him!

Suddenly, she felt Eleanor by her side, her smooth, kind face looking beseechingly at Scarlett's. "Oh my dear Scarlett," she said, embracing her tightly. "I know how horrible today must be for you. You're always so brave."

"Honestly, Miss Eleanor," she said, trying to wriggle out of her arms. "I'm fine. I don't-"

"I think I might know where Rhett might have gone. I can't be certain but I think I have a good idea."

Scarlett looked at her, some of her old fighting spirit re-entering her body. If her husband didn't need her or want her, then she most certainly didn't need or want him. "Miss Eleanor, quite frankly, if Rhett had wanted to spend the day or even the morning with me, he would have waited until a more civilised hour before leaving the house."

"Scarlett darling, maybe he doesn't _know _what he wants. And maybe you need to help him decide what he wants. Remember what I told you in June? You have to be the one to persist. He's been so…so… _restless_ since October, even more so since Ella and Wade came to stay. Men are never very good with their emotions," she said, conveniently forgetting Henry's presence, "And Rhett is probably one of the worst. They don't know how to handle them. They lash out when they don't mean to, they get angry when they just want love, they refuse to cry, even if something is breaking them. They refuse to forgive and forget even when they are at fault, too." She stopped her soliloquy and then cupped Scarlett's face. "Rhett came back from New Orleans didn't he to be with you for yesterday? That should tell you something – that despite what he might say, he wanted to see you. He didn't _have_ to come back. I had only written to him that Carreen was very ill and that I expected you would be in Charleston before too long. I didn't _tell_ him to come back." She stood up. "Now, my dear, let me ask Mary to prepare a picnic for the two of you and then you can take it to where I think Rhett is. Your Uncle Henry will drive you there – I don't want you getting lost."

Scarlett furrowed her brow, feeling as though she was being backed into a corner. "Miss Eleanor, I'd really rather not. I'd prefer to-"

"Now Scarlett," Uncle Henry said, suddenly looming over her. "Don't talk nonsense. Miss Eleanor is quite right-"

"I'm not-"

"Scarlett, I'm asking you-"

"Please Uncle Henry. You don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly. And if I have to drag you down there, I will. Now, please go and get ready."

"Uncle Henry, I'm not going-"

"Scarlett!" Uncle Henry admonished again. "Please! Think of Wade and Ella. It's not just about you any more – if it ever was. You owe it to them to try and rebuild some sort of relationship with your husband. Go and…erm…get dressed…and I'll ask Clarence to ready the buggy and I'll drive you to where we think Rhett is myself." Scarlett didn't move.

"Scarlett, I don't ask you to do much," Henry said impatiently. Scarlett looked at him, wondering what he would do if she disobeyed him. There was something in his countenance that she hadn't seen before and as she stared into his eyes, she saw steely determination. The same steeliness that Melly had possessed. And then she thought of Melly. Melly would be forcing her to go. Melly would be driving her, herself, if she had had to.

She threw up her hands in defeat. "Alright. You can take me. But if he isn't there – wherever _there _is – then I am going to spend the day with my aunts and Suellen and then I'll leave Charleston tomorrow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett dressed – with Mary's assistance – and then met her uncle at the stables. "How do you know where Rhett is?" she asked, as Henry took the reins from Clarence and cracked the whip on the horse's backside.

"Rhett took me there in July," and then realising what he had said, he began to clarify, "What I mean is, I happened to be…erm…passing through…Charleston…and-"

"I know what you mean, Uncle Henry," Scarlett said, as they turned left out of the grounds of Wycliffe House, and impulsively she leaned in to kiss his whiskery cheek. "I love Miss Eleanor and I love you and I think it's wonderful that you get on so well together. You're like a second father to me and if you and Miss Eleanor ever decided to get married-"

"Now, Miss. We'll have none of that talk. We are just…erm…friends."

"Exactly, just friends, Uncle Henry," Scarlett ribbed before an old memory flooded back to her and her countenance changed to melancholy and regret. "I was just friends with Rhett too," she said quietly, as the buggy turned left onto Battery Street. "Before we got married. He was my best friend. Him and Melly. Maybe you shouldn't get married. Maybe you _should_ just remain friends with Miss Eleanor."

"I'm not Rhett, Scarlett," Uncle Henry said equally quietly.

"Thank goodness. One blackguard is enough in any family." She laughed but she didn't feel joyful.

"Miss Eleanor was right. Rhett is hurting and he doesn't know how to deal with it – other than to drink whisky and travel to places that don't remind him of Bonnie – or you."

Scarlett raised her eyebrows. "Uncle Henry, if that was _really_ true, why was he in New Orleans?"

"I think he had some business to tidy up there. I don't think he went by choice."

A silence fell between them as Scarlett contemplated his words. She wondered if Uncle Henry had heard of the rumours swirling round Rhett and his relationship with Hélène. It was certainly possible. Especially as he had taken to whiling away his time in Charleston. He didn't gossip – certainly not with her – but he certainly listened and he always seemed to have his pulse on what was happening. If Rhett had taken up with a new woman, he would surely know about it. She dug her nails into her palm bracing herself for whatever revelations her uncle would reveal.

"Uncle Henry?"

"Yes, Scarlett?"

"About Rhett. Well, is he…" she paused for a moment, wondering how to phrase her question without scandalising her uncle. But then she shrugged her shoulders. She would have to be direct. "Is he…courting…anyone?"

Uncle Henry slowly swivelled his head towards her. "Courting?" he said, his eyes wide and incredulous.

"Yes," said Scarlett. "Courting."

Uncle Henry frowned, his whole face screwing up. "He's married to you, Scarlett. What a silly question."

"I know he's _married _to me, Uncle Henry, but well…you know…" She looked at his inquisitive face as though he wasn't quite sure what blasphemy might trip off her tongue. Then she whispered – even though there was no one around. "You well know, Uncle Henry, that we haven't exactly been living in the same house recently, or even the same city. And I…well…it's just that I heard…" She stopped again, not quite able to levy the accusation about her husband. She heard her uncle sigh.

"Yes?"

Scarlett swallowed. It was now or never. She looked directly at her uncle, into his disbelieving eyes that were the same shade as Charlie's had been and the same shade as Wade's and breathed in before speaking quickly. "I heard that he was spending a lot of time with a French lady. A French ballerina. Hélène. Or that's what I think her name is." There! She had asked the question – albeit in a roundabout way - that she had been wanting to ask ever since she had heard the two old biddies on the train gossiping about her husband.

"And?" he said calmly.

And! What did he mean _and? _Did he think it was acceptable for her estranged husband to be escorting a woman around town who was not his wife?

"He's been courting Hélène," Scarlett said.

"Hélène?"

The tone of his voice surprised her, as though he knew the lady in question.

"Yes. Hélène," Scarlett repeated.

"Hélène?"

"Yes!" Scarlett replied impatiently. How many more times did that name have to be repeated. She straightened her back. "I need to know. I'm not going to get a straight answer from Rhett and I…well…I have a right to know."

"Wherever did you hear any of this nonsense?"

Nonsense? This wasn't nonsense. "It doesn't matter," Scarlett replied. She stared at her uncle – but his mien surprised her – he didn't look shocked or embarrassed as she might have expected him to. "So who is she and…and…" What exactly did she want to know? Whether she was his new lover, his new mistress? Whether he was going to move to Paris with her as those ladies had intimated?

"_Hélène_, my dear Scarlett, is the daughter of an old friend of Rhett's father. She is the lady who has been organising the production of the ballet that I am taking Miss Eleanor to see tonight. So, Rhett has certainly seen her and spent some time with her. I believe he might have even taken her to the theatre one evening. But that's about it."

"That's about it?" Scarlett repeated quietly.

"There's nothing more to add, Scarlett. At least so far as I am aware and I am sure if you asked Rhett he would tell you the same thing. Perhaps she has also been to supper a couple of times with Rhett and Miss Eleanor. I might have missed that modicum of detail." She heard the sarcasm in his voice but chose to ignore it.

"So he's not in love with her?"

Henry started laughing, softly at first before it developed into his familiar hearty laugh. His body shook as Scarlett looked on in growing irritation. None of this was funny. Not really. Perhaps Uncle Henry didn't know. Perhaps Rhett had pulled the wool over his eyes as he had over his mother's. Oh, she had been stupid to raise it. She should have left well alone. Rhett never confided in anyone and she strongly doubted he had made old Henry Hamilton his confidant.

"I don't think I'll ever understand women," Henry said when he had caught his breath and then he started laughing again, leaving Scarlett with no better understanding of Rhett's relationship with Hélène than she had had at the beginning of the journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drove over four miles, traversing some of the main thoroughfares of Charleston before turning a sharp left and snaking through some narrower roads which had fewer but larger houses on them and then finally driving on a dirt track. "Here we are," said Henry bringing the horse and buggy to a halt.

"Here?" asked Scarlett. "Where?" She couldn't see anything, except masses of trees. She was in the middle of nowhere.

"There," he said pointing to a narrow walkway that had been cut through the trees and long grasses. "Take the path. It will get narrower before it gets wider. It'll take you about ten minutes to walk and when you finally get to the end, you'll see an old house – an old plantation – nothing too grand but with wonderful views over the Ashley River. I'll wait here for a while and if you don't come back after half an hour, I'll go back."

"And Rhett owns all of this?"

"Yes."

Scarlett shook her head in astonishment. Her husband owned all this land and she hadn't even known about it before today. He was as enigmatic to her now as he had been thirteen years ago. She had known he had bought his mother her house but she hadn't known that he had bought this property too. What other land did he own? she mused. It sometimes felt that everyone else knew far more about her husband than she did. Or maybe they had cared to know more about him than she had ever cared to?

"But what…what…if I get lost? Please won't you come with me, Uncle Henry?" The idea of being alone with her husband wasn't appealing.

"No my dear. It's better if you go alone. You don't want an old codger like me getting in the way. Rhett will be there. I'm almost certain of it." He nudged her shoulder and Scarlett jumped down from the buggy, grabbing the picnic basket and started down the path.

She walked along it, trampling some of the grasses that had begun to creep across it, wondering if Rhett really would be at the end of this journey. She tripped over some loose pebbles and in her battle to rebalance herself, she fell onto a bush, catching the fabric of her skirt in its prickles and causing it to tear slightly at the waist. "Damn," she muttered and blinked away some tears which had seemingly sprung from nowhere. She felt overwrought and…and… tired – which she didn't understand. How could she be so tired when she had slept in so late? But then she remembered the disrupted night, the harrowing and very real dreams, and Rhett's accusing words rotating in her mind. If he had hated her that much, it was because she had _made_ him hate her that much – and if Rhett thought he had killed their daughter, then she too had blood on her hands.

She walked more carefully, and when she turned a corner, she heard the sound of water, like the sound of a small waterfall. She must be getting closer. But she still couldn't see any life or see that anyone else had been here before her. Perhaps Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry had been wrong. Perhaps Rhett wasn't here. Perhaps he wasn't even in Charleston. Perhaps he was already on his way to Atlanta, or New Orleans, or Paris – or wherever it was that he wanted to escape to. And again she felt the sting of tears on her lashes.

The path – which had become no more than a two foot dirt track - veered to the right and then to the left and then seemed to double back on itself. Her back ached from carrying the basket and so she put it down to catch her breath and stretch. When she looked up again, she finally saw what she had been looking for. There, amongst the brambles and heavily leafed trees was a clearing and on it stood a large building and several crumbling, smaller buildings. She walked a few more steps and almost stepped in some fresh horse dung. She breathed a sigh of relief. Someone at least had been here not too long ago. And surely no one else would risk trespassing on property that belonged to Rhett Butler.

It was peaceful, she could hear the birds chirping and there were lots of wild flowers – bluebells, foxgloves, forget-me-nots – in a rainbow of colours that wove their way round the roots of the trees. When she reached the clearing, she stopped again and took in the beauty of the place – the formal garden at the front of the house, had long been reclaimed by nature, the only evidence of its prior existence, a small overgrown box hedge and some straggly, untended rose bushes. Dense ivy had grown up all along the left side of the white washed house, sucking out any remaining air from the brickwork and underneath a couple of windows on the second storey a creamy honeysuckle had made its home. To the left, there was a decaying stable block – and a flat rectangular space that at one time, must have been a training yard for horses.

She looked at the house again – with half its shutters hanging off their hinges and paint peeling at the door and window frames. It might be in need of a lick of paint or two and a carpenter but she could see it had a charm about it that some of the grander houses lacked. And then she saw Rhett's horse, tied up against a willow tree in the shade, gnawing at some grass, and a jacket thrown casually over a bush. She walked a few more paces towards the building and then put the picnic basket down behind a wall, before self-doubt once again took over. Now that she was here, she felt her heart begin to race in anticipation. Was he going to be pleased to see her? Or was he going to be irritated by her presence?

The sound of a loud splash momentarily startled her. She turned round to where the noise had come from and saw a dark head bobbing in the water. She stood still, waiting, and wishing that she could disguise her emotions as well as him. She shuffled slightly to the left, so that she was partly in the shade and when she glanced back to the river, she saw her husband climb out and walk towards her ruffling his hair with a towel. He was naked from the waist up, the matted, black, hairs on his chest glistening in the midday sun. He had some peculiar trousers on that were woven tightly round his legs but were torn at the knee and only came to his calf. Who would have thought that her husband - who was always so particular about his attire - even owned clothes like these?

"So you found me," he pronounced when he finally stood before her. He was only a few feet from her but she couldn't tell what mood he was in. His face was as blank as the right wall of the house. She squinted in the sun taking in his lithe, strong body, every sinew of muscle in evidence. She hadn't seen him in this state of undress since…since April and before that for ever so long.

"I hadn't realised this was a game of hide and seek Rhett," she replied tartly.

"I could hide from you if I really wanted to," he said in a flat tone, but then he smiled at her and she felt able to breathe. Hopefully that was the last of his unkind words.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said rather inadequately, not exactly sure how to justify her presence. He offered her no reassurance. Instead, he looked her up and down and then looked around her – as though he was checking to see if she was alone. "So you didn't go into town after all," she continued, when he remained mute.

"No."

"You didn't…wait…for me either though?"

"No." She bristled at the terseness of his response.

"I…well…" she paused, debating whether to offer to leave – which was blatantly what he wanted. Why did he always make it so difficult? Why couldn't he just hold her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright and help her forget about today? It was just as hard for her, maybe even harder. She had carried Bonnie for those nine months, she had gone through the nausea, the distortions of her body, the pain of labour. She had loved her too – maybe not so manifestly as he had done but she had loved her too. She bit her lip and swallowed her pride - Uncle Henry's and Miss Eleanor's words ringing in her ears.

"I thought you might have gone to Atlanta," she finally offered. "Because you might have felt closer to her there." He looked at her, as though he was waiting for her to continue speaking. "I'm...well…I'm pleased you didn't. I'm pleased you're still here."

"It was too late. I couldn't make the train last night. I was five minutes too late." His words stung her and she turned her head away from him, her eyes betraying her hurt. Why couldn't he pretend for once, that he hadn't wanted to leave her on her own today? He had lied so frequently to her – what was one more lie? She counted to ten and then turned back to his inscrutable face. But something flickered in the back of her eyes which gave her the courage to persevere. Perhaps, despite everything, he did want her to be here. Was that the reason he had chosen a place where he knew he could be found?

"Do you mind if I stay, Rhett?" she said when she had pushed down the tears. "I thought we could eat together." She looked at the partly hidden basket. "Your mother packed us a picnic."

He smirked and then he looked at her and his blandness – his own emptiness - stirred the fire inside of her.

"You know what Rhett? It's not just about you. I hurt too. She wasn't _just _your daughter. I lost a child too." Her voice shook with anger, hurt and pain and when she looked at him, through her own blurred vision, she saw that his eyes were red rimmed and misty too. He still didn't say anything and as the seconds became minutes, so her own self-confidence ebbed away. What was she doing here? She could still leave on the same train that was going to take Suellen back to Jonesboro. She could be with her children tomorrow, instead of being stuck with this impudent man. She would prefer to be anywhere but here.

"Forget it Rhett! I'm leaving. I have people to visit who would welcome my company and I have plenty of other things to do. Including buying my train ticket for tom-"

"Don't leave, Scarlett." He caught her arm. "Please?" His eyes looked so sad, so full of unhappiness that immediately her ire melted. "I'm sorry," and by his soulful expression, he appeared genuine.

She sighed. "Alright then. But Rhett, please. No nastiness. I can't bear it from you, least of all today. And if you want me to leave, just ask nicely and I will leave. I certainly don't want to impose my presence on you if it isn't welcome."

He kicked some dust away with his bare feet.

After a while, he spoke again. "Mother told you about this place, then?"

"Yes. And Uncle Henry." He looked surprised. "Your mother thought you might be here and so Uncle Henry brought me."

"I bought it years ago with the notion of fixing it up. Or tearing it down and starting again," he said after a while, looking back at the decaying building – that wasn't exactly a mansion but was far larger than a cottage. "But I never moved back to Charleston – until October. And now I rather like its broken charm." He draped his damp towel over a small mulberry bush to dry but didn't make any move to put on his shirt. And then he picked up a flask - of water? - and drained it. "Sorry, Scarlett, I am forgetting my manners. Would you like a drink?"

"I have some lemonade in the basket." She looked over her shoulder towards the wicker case. "Your mother insisted I take some."

"How…thoughtful of her," he said.

He went over to his jacket, still shirtless, his trousers dripping wet, and took out a cigar from his case, struck a match and lit it. Then he took out a small whisky flask and put it to his lips. She saw him swallow a couple of times and then replace the lid. He walked back over and stood by her side, taking in the panorama. It was so serene, calm, quiet. She could understand why he had come to this place. It was like being in another world. Like Tara was for her.

"I used to meet my mother here during the war, clandestinely." He fleered as though he was remembering something. "When my father refused to allow me to even cross the threshold of the house I had grown up in." There was a bitterness in his tone. "You see, you weren't the first person to ban me from-"

"Rhett!" Scarlett cried. "Please-"

"-and I stumbled across this place and just before the war broke out, I tracked down the owner and bought it. I'm not sure why, really. Probably because you have to know about it to find it. I like its solitude." He puffed on his cigar and then turned round to properly face her, studying her clothes. She had on an ill-fitting black gown, that she had worn when she had first mourned Bonnie, and she was conscious it emphasised her thinness. The fabric was too warm for these climes at this time of the year and she felt the beads of perspiration gathering on her forehead. She fumbled at the clasp of her reticule, which was hanging from her arm, and took out a handkerchief to mop her brow.

"Scarlett," he said after she had replaced the handkerchief. "Why don't you take your bonnet off." His eyes fell to the floor. "And your stockings and shoes. If you want. It's so hot and you must be…erm…uncomfortable."

"I'm fine, Rhett."

"No one's going to see you. Except me. And I've seen you with a lot less cloth-"

"Alright Rhett," Scarlett snapped. Why did he always like to tease her? "I'll take them off. And whilst I take them off, maybe you could put a shirt on. It's really quite distracting."

He cocked his eyebrows in that irritating way of his and then walked into the house, straight past his shirt that was hanging over a wall. When he came out, still only half dressed, he was carrying two brown and black chequered blankets. "I imagine you will want to sit in the shade," he said as he smoothed them out under the trees.

She shrugged but moved to where he had placed them and sat down. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Not particularly." He paused as he looked back towards the river, once again turning away from her, hiding his face. "I think I might fish for a bit and then cook what I catch."

Rhett moved a couple of paces and then he stopped. "Today's a strange day, isn't it?" he said quietly, the pain catching in his throat. "I'm not exactly sure what I thought I would feel. Apart from regret and impotence."

Scarlett stood up and walked over towards him. She wanted to touch him but she resisted. He was in an unpredictable mood – he might take her in his arms but more likely, he would shake her off. Instead, she whispered. "It's not like her birthday is it? Because on her birthday we would have… celebrated it if she had been alive. This is a day that would have passed like any other day if she hadn't…had her accident. And now it's another day in the year that is…painful – has its own horrible significance. And if Bonnie hadn't died we would treat it like any other day. It wouldn't mean anything to us."

He didn't move for a few seconds and then he slowly pivoted round and looked into his wife's green, glassy eyes. "That's a perceptive comment, Scarlett. For you."

She scowled at him but just before she could conjure up some sort of acidic retort, he suddenly changed his tone and said, "Why don't you sit next to me and put your feet in the water to cool down?" She looked up at him, to see if he was joking but she could detect no mirth.

She shrugged. "I forgot to bring a parasol. I'll burn in this sun."

"There's an old umbrella inside the house. I'll go and get that for you. My fishing rod is over there." He gesticulated to the right. "Go and settle yourself there and I'll be with you shortly."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhett fished whilst Scarlett watched, relishing the feel of the cold the water on her legs and trying to keep still so that the fish weren't scared away.

They didn't speak and when she stole the occasional look at her husband, he was staring into the distance, with the same dazed expression he had worn for much of yesterday.

After half an hour, Rhett reeled in his line and walked over to a small, stone stove that was close to the blankets and lit a fire to cook the four fish he had caught. Scarlett returned to the rugs and spread out the food that Mary had packed for them – breads, cheese, tomatoes, chicken – before lying back and watching as Rhett cooked.

They ate awkwardly together, neither seeming to know what protocol they should be adhering to and then Rhett went into the house and brought out a bottle of burgundy, opened it and poured both of them a healthy measure. "What else have you got in the house, Rhett?" Scarlett asked as he handed her a glass.

"A few provisions. An old mattress, some old furniture. Not much. I don't stay in there but I keep some food and wine and whisky – just in case. Like today." Scarlett sipped the wine and then lay back on the soft floor. She already felt sleepy and it wasn't even two o'clock – but the heat was draining all her energy. She closed her eyes and then she heard Rhett lie back too.

"Who do you think Bonnie would have married?" Scarlett asked after a while.

He contemplated her question before replying. "No one."

"Of course she would have married someone!" Scarlett chided. "She would have had every man falling at her feet."

"Oh, I don't dispute that, darling," he said. "But she wouldn't have married anyone."

"Why ever not?"

"Because no one would have been good enough for her."

"Good enough for you, you mean," Scarlett retorted.

He chuckled. "Didn't I hear you once say that you didn't much like being married? Why wouldn't your daughter have had the same sentiments?"

"When I said that, Rhett, I didn't really know what marriage was about or what love was. Despite everything, it would have been…" She thought for a moment of a life without Rhett. "It would have been pretty lonely without you."

"Just lonely?"

"Yes. Lonely." She suddenly felt melancholy about their own lost chances and she hadn't wanted to today. She turned on her side, trying to put some distance between herself and her naked husband. How she wanted to crawl into his arms and lay her head on his chest. No one had ever given the security he had when they had lain together in bed in the honeymoon period of their marriage. "I miss you, Rhett," she whispered barely audibly – the wine loosening her tongue. She had missed his company in a way that she would never have thought possible when they had first got married.

She heard him get up, the parched leaves crunching underneath his feet and she knew she had said too much and made him feel uncomfortable. She slowly turned her body round to face where he had lain, and saw him groping for his cigars. He was still using the same cigar case, the one she had given him for their wedding. The one she had enscribed on it _To Rhett with love_ even if the words hadn't quite had the same resonance then as they now held. Finally, he walked back over and re-took his position and she inched ever so slightly closer to him.

"Who do you think that she would have married, Scarlett?" he said, when he was once again, lying on his side, smoking a cigar. "You've obviously thought about it."

"Beau."

"Beau?"

Scarlett nodded, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. He fell back onto the blanket, his eyes staring up at the leaves. "No."

A puzzled expression crossed her brow. "Why ever not? Because he wasn't rich enough?"

"Not at all. To use the old cliché, money doesn't buy you happiness, now does it?"

"No. No it doesn't," said Scarlett thoughtfully. Had she ever been more unhappy now that she had all the money she could possibly ever need? She thought back to her high spirited daughter. "I think he would have been a good match for her, Rhett. And he is a member of two of the oldest families in the South. I think Melly would have approved."

"Yes, but he had Ashley Wilkes for a father. And that man haunted my marriage enough without haunting my dotage too." He paused. "Bonnie Wilkes?" he said contemplating the name, and then he laughed. "To think that Ashley and I might have had common grandchildren."

"But you liked Melly-"

"Naturally. Was there not a person in this world who didn't like Miss Melly – even you came to your senses at the end." She ignored his barb. "But Beau would still have been half Wilkes. No, I'm sticking to my theory that she would never have married."

"So what would Bonnie have done then, if she wouldn't have married?"

"She would have travelled the world with me. I would have taken her to Europe and North Africa, perhaps she would have studied at Girton College in Cambridge. She might have been a surgeon, or lawyer. Or a scientist like Mary Somerville."

"Would I have travelled with you, too?" Scarlett asked quietly.

"You would have been invited-"

"I would have gone too, then," said Scarlett. She paused for a moment, watching a leaf float slowly to the ground. "I think we would have had other children, Rhett. If…if Bonnie hadn't died." Rhett remained motionless. "Bonnie would have made a good big sister. She would have been so bossy. Look at how she used to order Ella and even Wade around sometimes."

"I don't know Scarlett."

"Well, I like to think that we would have had other children," she said emphatically before rolling over on her side, away from him.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Because I realised I loved you."

"But I had fallen out of love with you," he said softly.

"I would have cast a spell on you Rhett and crawled my way back into your bed," she said with a little sigh and then he rolled onto his back and laughed. Not the spiteful, mocking laugh that she was used to but a real, sincere laugh – one that she hadn't heard since the early days of their marriage when he had used to rib her good naturedly.

"You know, Rhett, after we…well after you left in April, I thought I might have been…well, I thought for a week or so that I might be pregnant."

"And?" he asked quietly.

"Well, of course I wasn't…but…" She paused, unsure about how to continue. She didn't want to talk of how she had hoped she had been pregnant, how bereft she had felt when her monthly course had finally arrived, how she had held out hope that a new baby might have brought them back together.

He exhaled. "Scarlett, that was one of the reasons I wanted someone to keep an eye on you. Or – as you had put it – spy on you. Because I hadn't been careful. _We _hadn't been careful. I hadn't exactly expected to be back in your bed those nights."

"So, that's why you spoke with Maybelle and then Uncle Henry."

"The other way round. I spoke to Uncle Henry and then, when I thought about it, I thought that you might confide in Maybelle about any pregnancy. I didn't tell them that was _why_ I wanted them to keep an eye on you – and it wasn't the only reason – but I knew that if you had been pregnant, one of them would have told me."

"And you would have come back?" she asked hopefully.

He avoided her question. "I just…wanted to know."

"So that was the reason you asked them to look out for me?"

"It wasn't the only reason. But it was one of the reasons. You had seemed so fragile, like some sort of broken bird. And I realised afterwards that my behaviour hadn't helped. I might be a cad but I certainly hadn't intended to upset you as much as I did." He paused and inhaled on his cigar. "Despite what you think, I do _care _about you."

The word cut her and she grimaced. "But that's all?" she asked bravely.

"Well, sometimes I forget myself and desire you. It's not hard having you in my bed. I expect most men would feel the same." He raised his eyebrows at her and she coloured. "And I admire you, Scarlett. And I like you, too. Especially when I hear of what has been happening in Atlanta since I left. So yes, I do like you." Which was two letters short of the feeling she wanted him to emote.

Scarlett suddenly sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. The sun was still high in the sky, still intense and she wondered how much longer he intended to stay here. She sighed. He had been right. This was a peculiar day. She pushed herself to her feet and stretched and then took a couple of steps towards the wicker basket to retrieve some lemonade. But the sweet liquid didn't parch her thirst or cool her body temperature so she walked over to the river and ran her bare feet across the surface, dipping them in at the end, wetting the bottom of the dress. Then she went back to the blankets where Rhett was still propped up. He was watching her with an odd intensity.

"Do you remember how she loved water?" Rhett asked, when Scarlett had settled herself near to him again.

Scarlett nodded.

"She was a true water-baby and she used to love splashing about in her bath. Mammy and I would always get wet. I took her here once – the water can get quite shallow – and tried to teach her to swim. But she wasn't quite old enough. I promised her that we would come back when she was older-" He stopped speaking abruptly, as though he had realised the significance of what he had just said.

"She loved you so much," Scarlett hiccoughed, the pain of lost love rising within her.

"She loved you too." Scarlett's eyes shot up to scrutinise his face. "I realised just how much when we were here in Charleston. She couldn't wait to get back to you. Almost every day, she asked where you were and if you were coming. She talked about you all the time. Mother this, mother that." He let out a contorted laugh. "She kept on saying "We have to tell Mother that." And she wanted to buy you everything. Trinkets, jewellery…" he trailed off as Scarlett wondered what had become of the keep sakes. "She missed you." He paused. "I missed you too."

Scarlett laughed but her cheeks suddenly felt wet and then Rhett leaned over her and pushed the hair out of her eyes.

"She loved you Scarlett."

"What? Someone who's mothering skills are inferior to a cat's?" she retorted half in jest but the memory of the remark still painful for her. Rhett took in a deep breath.

"She loved you, Scarlett," he repeated and when she looked into his large black eyes, there was no derision or untruth.

"She loved you more, Rhett," and then Scarlett started to cry, silently, allowing the tears to roll down her cheeks, onto the woollen carpet. She moved her head so that she wasn't facing him and then rolled over to her side.

"Scarlett," Rhett whispered. When she didn't answer she heard him roll over towards her and then she felt his arms go round her. "Darling, love comes in all different shapes and sizes. You'd never had to share either of Ella's or Wade's loyalty or love before because Charles and Frank died too soon. It was always going to be different with Bonnie. Especially as I was determined to spoil her. But it doesn't mean she loved you any the less. I remember coming home once after I had been…" He stopped suddenly. "Well, it doesn't matter where I had been. I had got home far later than I had intended and you were both curled up on the large window seat in the nursery, with a book open and she was fast asleep on your bosom and you had nodded off too. It must have been a couple of months before she died. That was when I realised that a child's bond with her mother is unique and special. However much I had tried to…" He stopped again and leaned over her, into her watery, green eyes, as though he was wondering how honest he should be. Then he grimaced at the memory of his own bad behaviour, "However much I tried to break that bond, it couldn't be broken. I guess some bonds can't be. Broken that is."

Scarlett's tears dripped onto the rugs and then she dragged a corner up of the scratchy material and wiped her face.

"Do you know what keeps me up at night, Scarlett? Worry that I will forget her! It seems crazy."

"No. It's…it's not crazy," she whispered, interspersed with little convulsions.

"I worry that I will forget what she smelt like. Or what her laugh was like. Or how soft her hair was. Or how blue her eyes were. Or how her fingers felt when they were wrapped around me. They were so delicate – piano playing fingers I always thought – incongruous when compared to the rest of her plump body."

"I worry that I will forget all of that too," Scarlett said softly. "I sometimes close my eyes and I can see her, or hear her. But I know in time that will fade. I used to worry about that with my mother. That I would forget her. And now, I can barely remember the sound of my mother's voice and I am not sure I can remember exactly how she laughed." And then she started to cry again, soft, hiccoughing sobs. Rhett looked at her, deliberating his actions, and then instinctively, he reached out and pulled her to him. "Come here," he said and she shifted her body towards his and allowed him to hold her.

After a while, he started stroking her head and she felt his embrace tighten. "I'm sorry, Scarlett," he whispered into her hair.

"For what?" she murmured, enjoying his touch and her proximity to him. This was how they should have comforted each other a year ago.

"For lots of things. For leaving early this morning and for…" She felt his rib cage contract as he breathed in. "For lots of things," he repeated.

"That's alright. I understand, Rhett. I'm not the most soothing person."

"And I'm not always, either." There was a hush but she felt he hadn't quite finished speaking. She kept silent and then he spoke again. "I'm sorry…" he began again. "For saying those awful things on the stairs when Bonnie and I came back from Charleston. I'm not sure I can ever really forgive myself – especially, now that I know you had wanted the baby." She wriggled out of his embrace so that she could properly look at him. There was no mistaking his contrition.

"I've forgiven you, Rhett. I forgave you a long time ago," she said. "And it wasn't entirely your fault. I provoked you Rhett. And I lied. I did so want _your _child. I wish I hadn't said what I had said. You never doubted that the baby was yours, did you?"

He shook his head.

"Thank you. I've often wondered. I mean, when I was ill I wondered if that was why you didn't come and see me – because you also believed the gossip that the baby wasn't yours."

"I didn't see you because I was too cowardly, Scarlett, and I needed to know that you wanted to see me. And for a long time, I thought I had killed you." She lay her head back on his chest, absorbing his words. She had one more question that she wanted to ask and yet didn't quite feel brave enough to but when she felt him nuzzle her neck, she decided to risk it. She knew he didn't like talking of his dead love for her, but she needed to know.

"You…you still loved me? Then? When I was ill?" she said in a hushed tone and then she tilted her head back and flicked her eyes up to his swarthy face to monitor his response.

He nodded.

"I loved you too. Then. I loved you too," she replied.

_I don't think Rhett really thought that Bonnie would never marry – but I am sure that he would have played different scenarios in his head for what her life might have been. And I've always been curious about when Rhett actually stopped loving Scarlett – if he did. Was it when Bonnie died, or had he stopped loving her before but just went along with their relationship for the sake of Bonnie?_

_Sorry that some of you don't like Rhett here - I have obviously failed because I am trying to show that they are both taking steps towards reconciling. And he didn't tell Scarlett he didn't love her. They both admitted that they had missed each other (albeit at different points in the timeline), that they had loved each other at the same time - though neither knew it. They are getting there._


	36. Chapter 36

_Thanks to all you faithful readers and reviewers. Alison – I think out of almost everyone, you "get" my Scarlett. You were spot on with your review. Wiolka and Lizzy and Julia and Guardian Spirit (your reviews are wonderful!) – I love your enthusiasm for my story. Thank you, thank you. Finally, THANK YOU Lawdy for your help on this. For sense checking it (I couldn't delete all the "hads" – I need to go back to school and retake English language._

_It's very tempting to rush this and just say "and they lived happily ever after" – I am trying to resist the urge. It is coming to an end. _

_I don't own any of GWTW and I got the idea about the bouquet from Kiss me Kate (which I saw at the Old Vic in London a week ago) – so thank you, Cole Porter._

_Finger not completely pain free but better. I trapped it in the hinge of a self closing door. It was quite a mess but the hospital and anaesthetic sorted me out!_

_Again, this is a far from perfect chapter. Edits will be done once I have finished this. Please let me know if you think anything needs changing or something doesn't work._

Chapter 36

"I thought we could spend the morning together, Scarlett my dear," Eleanor Butler said as she sat opposite her son and next to his estranged wife in the dining room. Mary had laid out a feast for breakfast and Eleanor insisted that the whole family eat together rather than in their bedrooms.

Scarlett swallowed a piece of nut loaf and nodded before speaking. "That would be lovely," she said and then she glanced at her husband who seemed eye deep in newsprint. He didn't even blink.

"There is an interesting market that is set up in the main square every Wednesday," Eleanor continued. "Lots of different vegetables, flowers and wooden handicrafts from all over the South." Eleanor reached for her cup and took a sip and tea and above the rim of the dainty china, Scarlett saw her eyes flit back and forth between Scarlett and her wayward son. "And then…then…perhaps we can take tea in the new tea house, next to the telegram office. I've been meaning to try it out ever since it opened last month and now that you're here, it provides me with the perfect opportunity. I've heard they have even shipped tea over from England!" She paused and imbibed a few more mouthfuls of the warm liquid. "There's a beautiful milliner across the street from the tea house, too, that we should visit. It's really got quite the most darling hats and wonderful materials to choose from. I'm sure you'll find some things in there to buy – obviously for when you're out of mourning for Carreen. But I saw this exquisite dark green velvet that would suit your colouring perfectly."

Scarlett smiled but her eyes failed to sparkle. "That all sounds wonderful, Miss Eleanor," she replied. She poured herself some fresh coffee that Mary had just brought in. "And perhaps…perhaps we can stop by the station so that I can book my ticket for tomorrow. I really don't want to overstay my welcome." She glanced directly across at the table to where her husband sat and for a moment she thought she saw his eyes flicker but when she looked again, his inscrutability was reaffixed.

His indifference to her pained her and when he refused to meet her stare, she turned towards the old grandfather clock that was ticking its way towards half past nine so that she didn't have to look at him.

She felt emotionally drained. She was trying to take the tentative steps that Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry had urged her to do but it all felt like a hopeless cause. Every time she thought that Rhett was behaving with some warmth towards her, he would suddenly retreat back into his shell and ignore her. She had never understood him and she felt even further away from understanding him now, even after all that he had confessed to her in October. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that he didn't love her.

And yet…and yet…she couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he must care for her in some way. He had returned from New Orleans and accompanied her to Carreen's funeral, hadn't he? Even if, afterwards, he had reminded her of her own role in Bonnie's death. And then yesterday! Hadn't he…hadn't he wrapped himself around her to comfort her and then fallen asleep with her in the drowsy heat before gently waking her just as the sun was disappearing for the day? Hadn't he taken her home on his horse, with his head resting against hers, whispering of memories of their daughter and laughing with her when they recalled her high spiritedness and her stubbornness? And then, when they had arrived at the stables of Wycliffe House shortly before six o'clock, hadn't he looked at her with an odd intensity after her lips had inadvertently brushed his own, when he had reached up to swing her down from his seventeen hands stallion? How could they have moments like that – spend hours like that – for him to be indifferent to her? Was Hélène the reason for his sudden change in mood? Or was it resurrecting the painful memories of Bonnie? Or was it something she had done? Or said?

She looked back at him across the table but he hadn't moved. His fingers were still holding the newspaper in exactly the same way as they had for the entire meal – in fact, if she thought about it, she hadn't seen him turn one page of the paper. She sighed and then a mischievous thought entered her mind. Perhaps if she brought up the name of his alleged lover, it might elicit some reaction from him.

"Did you enjoy the ballet, Miss Eleanor?" Scarlett asked suddenly.

Eleanor put her tea cup down. "Delightful. Utterly delightful," Eleanor enthused in her usual effervescent way. "So beautiful and elegant. It was the Parisian version, not the Danish version and the music was so romantic. By Schneitzhoeffer. Although I am not sure that your Uncle Henry enjoyed it as much as I did." She leaned towards her daughter-in-law and in a lowered tone added, "I think he fell asleep."

Scarlett laughed. "That wouldn't surprise me. I never really had him down as someone who enjoyed the more feminine arts." She surreptitiously stole a look at her husband. Still no reaction. She glanced back at Miss Eleanor and breathed in. "Did you see Hélène?" she asked innocently. She heard Rhett elicit a cough as he cleared his throat but it only spurred her on to continue. "That _is_ the name of the lady…that has been organising the ballet, isn't it?" This time, when she looked at her husband, he caught her eye. His mouth was set in a determined way and he was scowling at her.

"Only briefly," replied Miss Eleanor, seemingly oblivious to the game that Scarlett was playing with her son. "She was so busy rushing round that we barely exchanged a "hello". I am sure she was sorting out last minute production or costume issues."

"I've never met a ballerina before – even a former one," Scarlett said dimpling, not daring to look in the direction of anything – or anyone - but Eleanor. "Perhaps… perhaps… you could invite her for tea whilst I am-"

"Or perhaps not," Rhett suddenly interrupted. "I'm sure she's very busy." Both Scarlett and Eleanor pirouetted round to face him. He put the paper down, and even though he stared at his wife, he directed his speech to his mother. "Actually Mother, I had been thinking of taking Scarlett out myself today. I wanted to show her…erm…a bit of the city that I grew up in – seeing as it is the first time that we have both been in this city together."

"But Rhett-" Scarlett began.

"And I'll even take you shopping, _darling_," he said, turning to his wife, heavy sarcasm rolling off the term of endearment. "If you have any energy left. I know the milliner's Mother means. I'm sure you will be able to while away a couple of hours in there. And there is a dress shop too that's on Cannon Street, run by a charming lady that has materials shipped over from Paris."

Scarlett's stomach somersaulted and she instinctively laid a hand on her belly to settle it. Despite his benign words, there was something nasty in the way he had delivered them. She turned to Miss Eleanor who was looking intensely at Rhett.

"We could all go-" Scarlett started to say, but Miss Eleanor interjected.

"Of course you want to spend some time with your lovely wife, Rhett. How selfish of me to try and commandeer all her time!" she said and her eyes twinkled with glee. She turned to Scarlett and smiled – almost triumphantly. "We'll have to save our visit to the tea house for the next time you visit."

"Well, we could all go together, Miss Eleanor," said Scarlett, feeling slightly panicky. Of course, she wanted to spend time with Rhett but only if it was the nice Rhett from yesterday afternoon. And she wasn't entirely sure what mood he was in. He seemed to be back to the sullen, brooding Rhett of a couple of days ago. "There's no reason why you shouldn't come along. Rhett, you don't mind, do you?"

"Scarlett, travelling all day around Charleston will exhaust my mother. Besides, I think we should spend some time together, don't you think, before you…er…return to Altanta." He looked at his pocket watch. "We should get going, Scarlett, so we avoid the midday sun. I'll have Clarence prepare the buggy."

Scarlett stood up and placed her napkin on the table. "Alright then. I'll go and get ready," she said quietly, aware that Rhett was still looking at her.

She walked into the large hallway and up the sweeping staircase with a slight giddiness. This had been the first time that he had chosen to spend time with her since that night in June, just before he had taken the children away to Charleston – and, despite her attempts to control her feelings, she felt warmed by the gesture. She took more than a little extra care with her appearance and dared to dab a tiny amount of rouge on her cheeks. It had to be subtle, otherwise Rhett might make her remove it. Or he would make fun of her and tease her that she was making a special effort for him. Which of course she wasn't.

She sprayed her hair with lemon verbena and then dared to dab some on the lowest part of her neck, that wasn't swathed in black fabric and behind her ears – just in case. And then she stopped herself – just in case what? If he still felt anything for her, above his professed _kindness_ and _pity_ he had done an excellent job of masking it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhett was already waiting for her at the front of the house. He handed her a black parasol as he helped her up the steps of the buggy and then he climbed in next to her, picked up the reins and they started moving. She wanted to ask him where he had gone last night, but pride interjected and besides, she had heard the latch on the kitchen door open and close before she had drifted off to sleep so she knew he hadn't stayed out all night.

"So where are you going to take me, Rhett?" Scarlett asked, after they had taken a couple of left turns and were in completely unfamiliar territory.

"I thought I might drive you out to where I grew up. The house was in ruins the last time I visited – which was before I married you – so it will be interesting to see what has happened to it and whether it has now been completely razed."

"This reminds me of when we used to go driving together when I was pregnant with Ella," said Scarlett dreamily as the buggy went over a pothole, jolting her to the left so that her arms brushed Rhett's own.

He glanced at her. "But you're…not pregnant…?" he said quickly as though he was seeking reassurance.

Scarlett rolled her eyes at him, for once mocking him. "Do you not remember our conversation from yesterday?" she asked sarcastically. "And, if I was, Rhett, I think you would have noticed by now."

There was a moment's silence. "Unless of course if it wasn't mine," he said coolly, keeping his face turned firmly towards the road.

Scarlett wrinkled her forehead. "Don't be hateful, Rhett," she whispered. Why was he like a pendulum swinging back and forth between the spiteful, goading Rhett and the kind, thoughtful Rhett. "You know, I haven't so much as looked at another man since you left me."

"That's not true, Scarlett."

"What do you mean?" She scowled at him.

"I'm sure you've looked at many men-"

"Not in _that_ way, Rhett." She snapped. "I _am_ married. In case you had forgotten."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

Scarlett turned her body completely round to face her accuser. "What are you saying exactly?"

"What about Jack Picard?" he said, still refusing to look at her.

"What?" Scarlett said, her brow furrowed in disgust and astonishment. She couldn't quite believe the accusations her husband was making against her. "What _about_ Jack?" she exclaimed. He didn't say anything. "What about him, Rhett?" Her voice rose in volume.

"Well, Mrs Butler, I understand that you have been seen out with him. On your own."

She quickly replayed the last few months in her mind. When had she been on her own with him? She couldn't remember. But then she thought of that time when he had come into the store and asked her to accompany him on a carriage ride. Surely, no one had seen them! No one had been in the store and Hugh had been out running errands. Her husband must be bluffing.

"I don't know what you mean!" she replied indignantly.

"Perhaps if I said the words..the..tea..house, your memory might recover?"

And then it all came back to her. "God's nightgown, Rhett! I was having a refreshment and he happened to be passing and he joined me!"

"That's not what it looked like."

"How do you know what it looked like?" she shrieked. "You weren't there, were you? How do you know?"

He ignored her question. "You really should be more careful about how you conduct your affairs, Scarlett. Otherwise, you might find I can divorce you for your adultery."

"Adultery? How dare you! You…you…cad….you…" She moved to the edge of the buggy. "Stop the buggy! I didn't agree to come out with you just to be insulted. Stop the buggy." He didn't comply. "Stop! Stop this buggy at once, Rhett Butler! Or I'll scream. Or I'll…I'll throw myself out of this buggy!" But Rhett just carried on. She inched away from him, towards the edge of the seat, turned her body towards the cobbled street and gathered her skirt. One of her legs dangled over the ledge of the buggy. They were moving too quickly but she could see a bend coming up in the road and he would have to slow down. She would jump then. Even if she hurt herself, she wouldn't care. Anything would be preferable to having to spend one more second trapped with her husband.

Suddenly Rhett placed a hand on her arm. "Don't Scarlett. It's dangerous."

"Then stop it, Rhett," she screamed. "Stop the buggy!" He pulled on the reins and before the horse properly halted, Scarlett leaped out and started hurrying away from him.

"Scarlett!" She glanced over her shoulder and saw him walking purposefully towards her. She quickened her step but within seconds he had caught up with her. His face no longer wore its bland mask, and instead, his eyes were channelling dark rage. He swung her round just as she picked up her skirts to start running.

"You stupid fool! You could have hurt yourself."

"Get your hands off me, you skunk." He didn't comply but she managed to jerk herself out of his arms.

"You're making a scene, Scarlett. Come back to the buggy." She looked around but the street was empty apart from a black cat.

"Why should I? You're hateful." She started walking away from him.

"Scarlett!" He grabbed her shoulder.

"Why do you have to always be so nasty," she said, her voice cracking as she tried to hold back the tears. "Just…just…when I think you are being… nice – just when I think you might want to spend time with me, you act like a complete…a complete…" She couldn't quite bring herself to say the word she really wanted to. "…a complete _varmint_. How dare you insinuate that I would…that I would…share my bed with anyone else but my husband-"

"You have a selective memory, Scarlett," he said coolly.

"What? What do you mean?" She twisted out of his hold and took a couple of steps back, her emerald eyes brimming with moisture. "I've never once been unfaithful to you, Rhett! Not even after you left me! Not even after you told me you didn't love me and didn't want to be with me anymore! You shouldn't assume that everyone acts like you. Just because you're incapable of being faithful, it doesn't mean-"

He stepped forward and gripped her arm again. "Damn you, Scarlett! I'm perfectly capable of being faithful. I could be, if I wanted to be, if I chose to be. If I was with someone who was _worthy_ of my fidelity, if I had a wife, who wanted me to touch them, who responded to my touch, wanted me in their bed."

"I want you in my bed, Rhett!" Scarlett exclaimed and then immediately she realised her slip. "I mean, I wanted you in my bed!" She felt the colour rise to her cheeks but she kept their locked gaze. "I don't understand you, Rhett. I don't understand. Why should you _care_ about Jack - or anyone else for that matter - who might be….interested in me. Anyone would think that you were jealous of Jack. But as you don't love me and don't particularly _want_ me as your wife – it wouldn't make any sense for you to be jealous. In fact, if I was in your position, I would be _encouraging_ the relationship. Because, if someone else came along who I could fall in love with, I might decide I could give you your precious divorce and then you wouldn't need to have anything more to do with me! Did you know that he actually asked me to marry him? One would have expected-"

"Stop it Scarlett, damn you," Rhett suddenly growled at her.

"Why should I stop it, Rhett?" He was glaring at her, his eyes were blazing, boring into her skull and he frightened her. "I want to be happy! I want to be loved. Perhaps I should accept Jack's proposal! At least he wants me. He wants me enough even if I was a divorcee-"

"He only wants your body, Scarlett," Rhett replied, his mouth curling into a malevolent smirk.

"How dare you say that! He doesn't! He wants _me_! Maybe I will marry him," she screamed, even though she had no intention of doing so. "That would solve both our problems, wouldn't it? That way you could be with Hélène or whichever…trollop you want to be with and I could be with-"

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Scarlett or I'll…"

"You'll what? Hit me? Divorce me? You're just a-"

Suddenly he bridged the couple of feet between them and pulled her roughly to him, his mouth clamping down on hers. For a moment, she was too stunned to think, to respond, to do anything but then she instinctively grabbed hold of his neck – not because she was trying to kiss him back but because he was making her feel faint. She tried to pull away but his hold on her was too strong. Finally, she managed to turn her head. "Don't Rhett…don't…I don't want…" but her mind was a blur and she couldn't finish her sentence. What did she want? But more importantly, what did _he_ want? But this was always how he had managed to win their battles. He overpowered her with emotion and anger and out of it all, there always erupted that strange, quivering feeling of desire. That only he had ever managed to fire in her.

"You're not going to marry anyone else, Scarlett," and he started kissing her again. Hard, possessively, squeezing her against him so tight that she wondered for a moment if he was trying to strangle her.

She twisted her head around. "Get…off…me," she tried to say, and when he pulled her head back to face his, his mouth hovering over hers again, she knew she had to escape. Or surrender completely. But she couldn't do that. She would never give him that satisfaction!

"You cad!" she finally screamed and then, because the rest of her body was trapped against his, she kicked him with the toe of her boot. It did the trick and he immediately released her. She fell back, panting, trying to calm her racing heart. "You accuse Jack of just wanting my body! Isn't…isn't…that what you want, too? You're an animal Rhett Butler," and then she kicked him in the shin again. This time, he crouched down, gripping his leg.

"So you kick as well as slap? I'll have to remember."

"You won't have to remember _anything_!" she hollered as she stepped away. "I'm leaving Charleston this evening! And _you_ can explain to your mother why." And then, when she was a good twenty feet away from him, she shouted, indifferent to who might hear her. "Hélène is _welcome_ to you!"

She picked up her skirts above her ankles and started running. She had no idea where she was but she knew she couldn't be more than a mile away from Wycliffe House. They had only driven for ten minutes or so. The road curved left and then sharply right but she didn't recognise any of it. She carried on, blindly – blind with anger and unshed tears. Once or twice she went over on her ankle but she ignored the pain. She reached a junction, not knowing which direction to take, but carried on over the road, glancing quickly behind her. Rhett was not in sight and neither could she hear the buggy.

After a few more yards, she arrived at another small crossroads and took in a deep breath. None of it looked familiar. She could be anywhere. She might even be heading back to where he had left her, for all she knew. Her brain was so frazzled and she was so hot, that even if she had taken notice of their journey, she would be unlikely to recall the route. She walked for another five minutes before reaching a junction with _three_ roads leading off it. Which one? It could be any of them or none of them – if she had already made a wrong turn. She looked around to see if there were any street names but there were none – not that they would have meant anything to her or helped her anyway. Her only consolation was that if she was lost, at least Rhett would be unlikely to find her.

She slowed her pace to a quick walk, all the while hoping that she would recognise a landmark. The sun was getting higher and more intense and although she tried to stay in the shade of the trees, there wasn't much fauna on the streets to shield her from the sun's rays. If only she had grabbed the parasol! she berated herself. She could have hit Rhett with that, too, and she would have had it to use now.

Perspiration began to slide off her face but she didn't stop to retrieve a hanky from her pocket. Neither did she re-tie her bonnet, which had worked its way loose and kept on sloping down her nape. She could sort out her toilette once she had found a cab to take her back to Wycliffe House.

Finally, after another twenty minutes or so, she saw in the distance a wide crossroads and then five carriages pass. She breathed a sigh of relief before she lengthened her stride, ignoring the pain from her pinching boot leather.

When she reached the intersection, she realised that she was in the heart of Charleston. The roads were bustling – with people and carriages. She crossed the street thankful to be enveloped by the general melee of Charleston society. Even if Rhett did catch her now, he wouldn't be able to do anything with so many people around. She passed a florist on a street corner and then a couple of tailors and then she saw a tea room – which must have been the same tea room that Miss Eleanor had been talking about. She walked past it and then past some other shops and finally dared to glance in a window. She caught her reflection in the glass. Apart from some wisps of hair that had escaped from her pins, she didn't look that dishevelled. She was at least presentable enough that she wouldn't embarrass the Butler name if someone saw her and knew who she was.

At the end of the parade of shops, three cabs were lined up on the side of the road. She went over to the first one. "Can you please take me to the Battery?" she asked. "I'm staying with Mrs Eleanor Butler. Wycliffe House." The cab driver nodded and Scarlett opened the door and collapsed into the seat.

Ten minutes later, the cab had pulled up outside the Butler residence. Clarence came out and paid the driver whilst Scarlett hurried inside the house, desperately hoping that neither Miss Eleanor nor Rhett were around.

She was in luck. She heard Mary in the kitchen and glimpsed Sally out on the veranda but Miss Eleanor seemed to be out and there was no sign of Rhett. She scampered up the stairs, along the corridor, past the closed door of her husband's bedroom and finally into the ivory bedroom. Thank God the door had a lock on it! she thought, as she turned the key and sealed herself in her sanctuary. She kicked off her boots, rolled down her stockings and removed them and then her dress. Then she loosened her stays and climbed onto the bed and within seconds was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She awoke a couple of hours later to a faint tapping on the bedroom door. "Who is it?" she called out, hoping it was Mammy. She needed to speak to Mammy to arrange for her belongings to be packed and to give Mammy time to say goodbye to her Aunt Eulalie and Aunt Pauline.

"Your husband," came a deep voice.

Her eyes widened. Thank God she had barricaded herself in! "Go away. I don't want to speak to you," she retorted and wrapped herself in the bedclothes.

"Scarlett, open the door please," he persisted calmly.

"No," she replied petulantly.

She heard the door knob rattle.

"I'll break this goddamn door down, Scarlett, if you don't open it."

"Go ahead!"

"Damn you, Scarlett," he said and rattled the door again, this time with a frightening ferocity.

She sat up in bed, clad only in her chemise, stays and drawers.

"Scarlett…" his voice threatened.

"Alright!" she shouted, forgetting that there were servants in the house. And possibly Miss Eleanor. "'Though I have no idea why I should!"

She walked over to the door, unlocked it and peered through the crack. But when she saw what he was holding in his hands, she was so surprised that she opened the door completely.

"What…are these for me?" she asked incredulously, her wrath immediately dissipated. He handed her a large, beautiful bouquet of rosemary, snowdrops and pansies.

"I think I owe you these," he said. "Despite you risking severe injury. Despite you acting like a mad woman and running off when you had no idea where you were. I thought I was going to have to call the police to try and help find you. Or worse still, find you in hospital."

But she wasn't listening to him. She stood still, gaping at the flowers, taking in their scent.

"The same flowers as my wedding bouquet," she murmured and then she buried her head in the flowers to better take in the aroma. "Did you remember or was it by chance?"

"Of course I remembered!"

"Well, I didn't know," she replied defensively.

"I don't forget anything when it comes to you, Scarlett," he said more softly. "Now, can I come in please? I don't think everyone needs to see you in such a state of undress."

"Alright then," she said, allowing him to pass her before she closed the door. She took another look at the flowers. They were so perfect, so beautiful, the white of the snowdrops so pure. For the first time since she had arrived in Charleston, Rhett had shocked her – in a good way.

He walked into the centre of the room and she padded over towards him. He looked her up and down and she suddenly felt very exposed, despite holding the flowers in front of her chest. Only three hours ago, he had been kissing her and now she was standing in front of him, completely unshielded. She went over to her wardrobe and grabbed a wrapper and tied it quickly around her.

"The flowers are beautiful Rhett. Thank you," she said as she walked back over to him, still clutching the bouquet.

"They're my…er…lazy attempt at a peace offering. Scarlett, I-" He walked over towards her. "I shouldn't have said what I did. And to set the record straight, I don't think you have been er…sharing your bed with Jack Picard. Or anyone else for that matter. I know you and your misguided definition of adultery. And your distorted morality. I know you wouldn't physically betray me. I was just ...testing you."

"Testing me?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Why do you need to test me?"

"Some people in Atlanta seem to have concluded that you were about to elope to Louisiana with Picard-"

"Some people? Who? What, like Belle Watling?" He didn't say anything. "If your _spy_ had been a better eavesdropper they would have heard that I told Jack that it would be impossible to accept his proposal because I wasn't in love with him and that I would rather be on my own than with someone that I didn't love." She spoke softly but was unable to disguise the emotion in her voice. He looked intensely at her, his black eyes flickering with something that she had seen a long time ago but had never understood. And then a thought struck her. Was it really possible that her husband was jealous of Jack? She had hurled that accusation at him but she hadn't really thought it had any truth? And if he was jealous – did that mean that he did love her, at least partly?

"So you're not eloping with Jack?" He broke her thoughts.

"As I am still married and as I don't intend to commit bigamy, no," Scarlett replied tartly.

"I see," he said. He put his hands in his waistcoat pocket, still staring at her but he didn't say anything further. The silence was beginning to unnerve her.

"Well, Rhett, if that was all you came to speak to me about, you can leave. I need to start packing and-"

"It wasn't all I came for. I came to ask if we could forget that this morning happened and to ask if you will please come downstairs and eat dinner with me. Mary is preparing a light meal. And then, I would like to start the day again and take you around Charleston. We still have the afternoon." Scarlett looked at him to see if she could detect any mockery in his mien but he looked deadly serious.

"But…" She stopped. There was no reason why she couldn't spend the afternoon with him. She even wanted to, if she could be sure he had left his nastiness behind. He continued to stare at her, almost lasciviously and she cast her eyes down towards the floor to avoid his searching stare. And then she saw the reason why he was looking at her with that glint in his eye. Her wrapper was completely undone! She turned round so that her back was to him and hastily, re-tied it.

"Fine," she said over her shoulder. "If you promise to be nice to me Rhett. I'll spend the afternoon with you."

"I promise."

She faced him again. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes. If you could send Mary up please to help me dress."

"I can help you Scarlett," he said and he grinned broadly at her. He moved towards her, his arms bent, as if to hold her but she stepped back. He had already taken too much of an advantage of her today than he had any right to. Even if he was her husband.

"No, thank you," she said "I'd rather you kept your hands to yourself, Rhett," and she went and rang the bell by her bedside.

_I was really hoping that this would be the crux chapter. But I couldn't get there. Chapter 37 is at least partly written and as I have a 8 hour flight to Miami on Monday I might well get it posted on Monday night._

_I know some people are tired of my depiction of the warring spouses - as in, they keep on arguing, keep on miscommunicating - but I have tried to show some progress. Scarlett is picking up that perhaps Rhett is reacting the way he did because he might still love her. And Rhett is a pretty nasty man at times. Rhett is incredibly jealous and possessive and even if he thought he didn't love Scarlett, I don't think he would want her to marry again - even if he didn't want her._

_I also know some people think that Scarlett would just take whatever scrap of hope Rhett throws at her – but I think three things had to happen if she is to sleep with him again. One, Rhett needs to know that Jack is no more than a sometime flirtation with Scarlett (if that. Jack has two roles in this story – one yet to be revealed, but the other to make Scarlett feel desirable again). I know that we are meant to think that Scarlett is this strong, unbreakable woman but I think she is very very fragile at the end of GWTW and wouldn't have been surprised if she had had some sort of breakdown. Even strong people have breakdowns of sorts. Two, Scarlett needs to understand whether Rhett has a relationship with Hélène or not. Three, Rhett has to make an effort (the flowers go some way) to show he does care – if indeed he does. This story was always going to be about a tentative – if at all – reconciliation. I don't buy that they would immediately be taking a chance on one another again unless a lot happened to them and time passed. Unless of course you could send them both to therapy._

_PS They would never have had their argument but in an empty street. And Rhett would never have kissed her if it hadn't been deserted._

_Sorry to drag it out for yet another chapter…_


	37. Chapter 37

_I am posting this because I felt I promised Wiolka it would be up on Monday (it is 4.30am where I am on Tuesday). This is NOT one of the best chapters and – like the middle – I think this reconciliation (if that is where we are going) is proving too drawn out. Sometimes I think I am trying to cover too much. I feel as though this chapter is a bit like a therapy session. (And if anyone has any suggestions of how the middle or this last bit should be culled, do share! I like good criticism.)_

_Jessermaca – THANK YOU for your thoughtful review. I agree that I think the writing has gotten better than in the first part (that isn't meant to sound arrogant) – and that was always one of the reasons for doing this exercise (ie writing a fanfic). I also think you were saying that the comb and clock were maybe slightly out of character for Rhett (more so than the ivory bedroom preparation) – I think the NOTES were – maybe too saccharine too – but I think that at the beginning of Six Months Later – he is not really sure what he wants. And he did only return to Atlanta because of the children – to see Wade and Ella and also because it coincided with Bonnie's death. But if you take away the notes, I think – at least with the comb – he would have bought her a Christmas present._

_Shorter than some of the other chapters._

Chapter 37

"So this is it," he finally said. They had pulled up alongside an overgrown cluster of trees and a rotting, wooden fence, the once white paint now grey and flaking. "This was my father's plantation. And before that, his father's plantation."

"I thought your grandfather was a pirate?" Scarlett asked taking in the vista from her perch.

"My grandfather's plantation _after _he had decided to make a life on dry land," Rhett amended and then grinned, flashing his white teeth. Scarlett couldn't help but smile and wish that she had met the grandfather, the one from whom Rhett had inherited his disaffection with Southern life and his devilish ways.

He jumped out of the buggy before reaching up for Scarlett's hand.

Scarlett placed her parasol onto the cushioned bench and then clambered down and took a proper look at the property. In the distance, she could see a large, white, columned house, leading down from the avenue of cedar trees and sycamores. The property didn't look as neglected as Rhett's own house by the river, and neither was it in ruins as Rhett had alluded to, but it certainly looked unloved and not in its prime. Scarlett swivelled around to take in the panoramic view but there wasn't another house in sight – only trees. And fields. And hedges. All in varying states of neglect. Just like Tara had been after the War. "Do you think anyone lives here?" she whispered.

"I am sure someone does," he replied not looking at her. "Or at least, I _hope_ someone does. It might help exorcise the Butler ghosts. My father sold it to some white trash during the War." He let out a twisted laugh. "He would rather our home fall into the hands of some scum rather than allow his Southern son to help him."

He walked to the front of the avenue and stood before the largest – and from its circumference – undoubtedly, the oldest tree.

He leaned in to touch the mottled wood. "They're still here," he murmured tracing his fingers along its bark. "Unbelievable. After all these years." He stood up and stretched his back.

Scarlett walked over the carpet of unswept leaves towards him, instinctively placing a hand on his arm to steady herself as she peered to where he had been looking. She saw three sets of initials carved into the wood.

"Me, my uncle and my brother," he said, reading the question that was unasked but was on her lips. "I must have been twelve and my uncle, Stephen must have been about twenty-five. He spent the summer with us in 1840 before being banished by my father for his fondness for…erm…"loose" women. I think that was my father's terminology." He emitted an acidic laugh and then he murmured. "It was one of those perfect summers. We went to the river almost every day and he taught me to fish, sail, swim properly, start a fire. Those sorts of activities that one would normally expect a father to teach a son. He taught me to shoot, too. And then one evening – when I was in bed – there was this almighty row – because he had dared to…er…go into a whorehouse one afternoon and had been seen – and told on – by one of my father's friends. My father didn't even stop to question how his friend knew – he had just been handed the perfect excuse to banish his brother. He didn't want him corrupting his sons!" His mouth twisted into a wry smirk before adding quietly. "He was gone by the morning. I didn't see him again for six years, until I, too, found myself, on the receiving end of my father's wrath. And then I lived him with for six months a lot later when I-" He stopped abruptly and looked out onto what remained of the plantation. "Twelve is an odd age. You have some understanding of real life, but it's slightly skewed. It was quite devastating to wake up one morning and find the man you hero worshipped suddenly vanished. Just like that." He clicked his fingers to emphasise the point. "In that proverbial puff of smoke."

He turned round so that his back was to his wife, walked a few steps and then took a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it. Scarlett watched him as she pondered on his words.

"It's funny how history repeats itself," she said as she strided over towards him. "Wade's twelve too, and the one man _he_ hero worshipped – who could never do any wrong in _his_ eyes – has abandoned him too. Or that's what it seems to him." She didn't mean to sound accusatory but she couldn't control the hard edge to her voice. That was what she hadn't understood after she had had time to reflect on the departing speech he had made in October. He might not love _her_ – he might wish to leave _her_ – but how could he move so far away from her children? Who were, to all intents and purposes, his children too? Had it really been that impossible for her husband to live with her, to come to some kind of truce?

Her husband flipped his head round, his black eyes filling his swarthy face and she saw something – regret? – in his demeanour, that she hadn't seen before.

"I…I hadn't thought of it like that," he finally said and then he took a couple of steps up the straggly, unkempt path, where once wonderful carriages would have traversed, putting distance between himself and his wife.

An awkward silence fell between them, only broken by the rustling of leaves as Rhett kicked them about aimlessly. Scarlett stood still, watching, hoping, her heart beating faster, all the while wondering if she should have kept quiet, kept her opinions to herself. And then she found herself saying in her head, prayer-like, "It's not too late. You can still come back. You haven't fallen too far off Wade's pedestal. Or Ella's. Or…or mine."

She felt the familiar lump rise in her throat and pushed it back down by swallowing hard and then she walked over to a couple of wooden posts which held together part of the decaying fence and leaned against it. The heat was uncomfortable, even with the shelter of the shade and she wondered how much longer Rhett wanted to stay. She looked up at the sky that was peeking through the leaves and tried to estimate the time. It must be close to three o'clock, she thought. If they left now, they could still make it back in time for her to go to the milliner. And the dress shop. And be back at a reasonable time for supper.

She pushed herself away from the fence but as she did so, a turquoise and black butterfly fluttered past her and landed on a fallen branch that lay strewn across the path. It sat on the branch, static but for its majestic wings. She couldn't remember the last time she had been in such proximity to a butterfly. Or noticed one.

"Don't move, Rhett," Scarlett commanded quietly. "Look…look at where you're standing. There's a beautiful butterfly right by your feet." He looked puzzled for a moment before he saw it, too, and then he bent down gracefully and scooped it up in his large hands, careful not to crush it. And then he let it go and both of their eyes followed it as it made its journey up the tree-lined avenue before it was no more than a dot in the distance.

"There is the most amazing wildlife in South Carolina. I forget. It's because of the rivers and the sea. There are even alligators out on James Island."

"Really? Alligators?"

"Allegedly. At least that's what my father used to say. I've never seen one. Maybe he said it to try and add another chain to my feet, to stop us wandering too far. But I've never been scared of snakes, or alligators-"

"Or anything really," Scarlett interjected.

He laughed suddenly. "Oh no, I've been scared of things." He caught her gaze. "I was scared of you, Scarlett. And scared of what you might do if you discovered my biggest secret." Was he referring to his love for her?

"The fact that I loved you," he confirmed. Then he murmured, "It's you who's not scared of anything."

"Yes I am," she whispered. "I'm scared that…" She paused. Should she say what she really wanted to say, what she really felt? "I'm scared that, after I leave Charleston, I'll never see you again. I'm scared that I'll never be loved again. In the way you used to love me. I know that…" Her voice trailed off as she thought of their argument earlier in the day. Jack might love or come to love her. Other men might fall in love with her. But not the man she wanted. What she really wanted to say was that she was scared of how she would cope if _he_ really did never love her again. "I know I'm not always an easy person to love."

He looked at her for a moment and then leaned towards her. "Neither am I, Scarlett," he whispered and then for the second time that day, he kissed her. Not on her lips, but on her forehead. He traced his fingers over the contours of her cheeks and she closed her eyes, relishing the soft touch of his hands. She felt his breath on her skin and then he kissed both of her eyelids and then her forehead again, before he ran his thumb over her brow, as though he was rubbing the kiss in.

She felt him move away and when she opened her eyes again, he had already started walking up the overgrown avenue. She followed awkwardly in his wake, wanting to take his arm but uncertain of his reception. Then, as if he was reading her mind, he stopped and waited for her to catch up before he silently linked her arm through his.

They could co-exist, she thought, as she tried to match him stride for stride. If they weren't trying to hurt each other, they could live together, companionably. Wasn't _this _something of sorts that he had wanted? They could be friends and perhaps, perhaps she could learn to live with that. And maybe after a few years, he might even love her in kind. Not like he had before but that would be alright. And if he didn't, that would be alright too, wouldn't it? If he could banish his nastiness, and his bitterness and his constant barbs. At least her family would be intact.

When they were a hundred feet or so away from the house, Rhett suddenly turned right and started walking towards some open cotton fields.

"I wish I had tried to win you back," he said suddenly.

Involuntarily, her pulse quickened and she bit her lip, waiting to see if he would say something else. She willed him to look at her, but he didn't and she wondered if he too found it easier to talk to her honestly when he didn't have to look at her pain. "Do you remember your birthday shortly after you broke your marriage vows and decided it would be better if we slept in separate bedrooms?" She shifted uncomfortably. She hated being reminded of her immature folly. And she hated the way he always described it.

"I'm…I'm…not so sure I do…Rhett," she managed to stutter, hoping he would draw the conversation to a close.

"Three or four months afterwards?" he continued, oblivious – or, more likely, indifferent – to her evident awkwardness. She felt his grip on her arm tighten. "We had passed a pleasant enough evening with Miss Melly and your Aunt. And Ashley hadn't managed to annoy me too much. In fact, I had even had a civil conversation with him about some futile campaign of the War. They left late and it was just the two of us sipping champagne in the parlour. I remember you were slightly…tipsy. Champagne has always been one of your weaknesses and you had consumed more than your fair share that night - and you began to look at me in a different way. In a way…in a way that I hadn't seen before. Or perhaps hadn't noticed before. For a brief moment, I thought that you wanted me to kiss you. You were flirting with me – or so I thought – not verbally but with your body. And you had the most ridiculous gown on which was over the top considering we were meant to be hosting a quiet evening with…family. It was dark green silk and clung to your curves and showed far too much bosom. Your body still carried some of the extra weight from your pregnancy which made you even more luminous and sensual. Anyway, you were laughing and you had this look about you - and you kept on running your tongue between your lips and tossing your head back. And then you brushed your hand against my trousers as you stood up to refill your glass and I-" He stopped for a moment, the visual imagery hanging in the air. "I remember it took immense self-control not to react. I remember thinking how, if I knew you might be…receptive to my touch, how I might have taken you there and then. In the parlour. I would have stripped you and taken you against that crimson carpet." Scarlett flinched at his coarse language but her heart began to beat faster. "One kiss would have been all it would have taken, I was so crazy for you but then I surmised that you were thinking of Ashley – you probably _were_ - and I must have misread your touch and I lost confidence in my own seductive powers and instead kissed your hand and wished you good night." He paused. "You probably don't remem-"

"I do, Rhett. I do remember!" she exclaimed as the memory flooded back. She had wanted him then! She had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted him in her bed that night. "I…did…want you to kiss me," she stuttered, unable to hide her emotions. "I did want you to touch me…and…well, you know…" Her long, black eyelashes fluttered down. Even though he was her husband, she still found it difficult to talk about those sorts of things. "But I didn't know how to tell you. Or ask you. And I was…scared of you…. I was scared that you would laugh at me, hurt me. Reject me. And, in retrospect, I know now why I was so scared that you would hurt me. It was because I must have been in love with you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have cared."

"You think you were in love with me then?"

"I…I think so…I think so. Oh, I don't know. I must have been. When I thought about you, I wished that you were closer to me. I missed your company. Your laugh. I missed your advice. I missed you when you went away. I missed you when you went out with the Old Guard or stayed late at…at Belle's. I would often sit on my own in my bedroom or the parlour, wishing that you would come home to me. I guess I was…jealous…that you would rather spend time with her, than with me." And then she found herself asking. "When did you stop loving me, Rhett? I mean, when did you realise that you no longer loved me?"

He breathed in sharply and didn't answer for a while. "I don't know. After Bonnie. Once I sobered up, I just realised that I didn't need to stay with you anymore. The one tie to you was finally severed and I could just leave. Finally, I felt that the shackles that had been involuntarily tied around my feet had come away. I was like a free man."

She felt the sting of tears on her lashes again and pulled her arm away from her husband. He looked down at her. "Sorry darling. I didn't mean that to come out quite as harsh as it sounded."

"It's alright, Rhett. I asked the question."

"That was how I felt _then_, Scarlett."

"I know," she said automatically, not really wanting to listen, regretting asking the question.

He inhaled on his cigar and turned to face the house. "I'm not sure I needed to come back here after all. It's left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth."

"Because…because of your father?"

He looked surprised and then he nodded. "Yes. Because of my father. I never understood him. I never understood why he struggled to love me when I was a child. I understood why he didn't _like_ me when I was older – we were always arguing and we never seemed to align on anything. And I admit – I deliberately misbehaved. Often just to get a reaction out of him. But – as far back as I could remember, he rejected me. It's a horrible feeling rejection. It attacks your self worth. And for the life of me, I couldn't understand it. And when we had Bonnie…" Scarlett heard his voice crack. "When we had Bonnie, I understood it even less. How could you not love your own child? How could you not want to protect them, nurture them, teach them, love them-"

"I am sure he did love you, Rhett," Scarlett said softly, her heart hurting from hearing the pain in her husband's voice. She had always taken her father's love for granted. There had never been one moment in her life when she hadn't felt loved by him, when she hadn't felt he wouldn't go to the ends of the earth to protect her – she had even felt it in his moments of lucidity after Ellen had died. Gerald's love for her had been almost as manifest as the love her husband had showered on their daughter.

He spun his head round to meet her eyes and held her gaze for a few moments, before she lowered her head to her chin, suddenly self-conscious. She twisted her hands awkwardly. "What I mean is…some people have different ways of showing love..."

She glanced back up at her husband, and saw him clenching his fists, saw the anger in his visage. "Darling…I…" She discontinued again and took the necessary steps to close the gap between them. "Just look at _me_," she finally said, trying to bring some levity to the conversation. "I grew up in a very happy family home. I adored my father. He let me get away with murder sometimes!" She let out a short, sharp laugh. "Even when I was naughty, he was never really angry with me. I never doubted that my father loved me…but look at…well…" She paused as the memory of her own maternal failings washed over her. "I have very different relationships with my children than my parents had with me…or you had with Bonnie… but – despite what you think – I still love my children."

"I know you do Scarlett," he said quietly.

"You do?" she said, unknowingly furrowing her brow.

"I've never really thought you didn't love them, Scarlett. Even if you could be brutal with them sometimes," he mumbled.

"It's just a different kind of love, isn't it though? I love differently to you, to Melly, to my parents," she continued. "Or rather, I show it in a different way. The children are never very excited about seeing me but they are literally dancing with joy when you walk into the room. They used to be the same with Melly. I see it every time and it used to hurt me…but now…well, it doesn't quite hurt so much and I'm pleased they love you and want to spend time with you. I'm pleased that they have you as their…father…" Her voice faltered as she thought of the conversation she had had with Wade the night the bakery went up in flames. "I think if they could, they would move to Charleston. Only the other day, Wade was telling me how he wants to come back here to be with you. I think he'd rather live with you than me and just see _me_ in the holidays. I think he wishes that his living situation was reversed. He tells me he has a lot more fun with you." She smiled but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Even if it was the truth, vocalising it was still painful.

"I have a lot of fun with them too. They're good children, Scarlett."

They stood side by side for a few minutes looking out onto the fields, both lost in their own thoughts. Rhett puffed on his cigar whilst Scarlett breathed in the comforting aroma.

Suddenly, in the distance, they saw an elderly couple on the brow of one of the hills, walking towards them and behind them, a young mother holding a swaddled baby and a father tossing up a young child into the air. Then, there was the sound of a bawling baby layered over childish laughter that seemed to echo around the cotton.

"Well, it's definitely inhabited," Rhett said grinning, his good mood from dinner time returning. He held out his arm for Scarlett to take. "Come on, Mrs Butler. I've seen enough. Let's go home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm too tired to go to the milliner's today, Rhett," Scarlett said trying to stifle a yawn as Rhett took the reins of the buggy. The heat was less intense and a welcome breeze was rippling through the trees.

"I'll take you tomorrow, if you want," he volunteered.

Scarlett considered his response. How long was she going to stay in Charleston? It was now Wednesday and in less than five days, Wade would be starting a new school year. It wasn't fair on Aunt Pitty, either, she mused, although she suspected that Aunt Pitty had probably offloaded the children with Beau and India for much of the day.

"I really have to get back to Atlanta, though," she said. "Wade's back at school next week and Ella starts with Mrs Brickston again. I can't stay here forever."

Rhett glanced at her before his eyes went back to the road. "No. But one more day wouldn't hurt. You should spend some more time with your Aunts too. I think my mother plays bridge with them on Thursdays. I could take you shopping in the morning and then you could spend the afternoon with my mother and your aunts."

"And then I could go home?" Scarlett asked. Rhett shrugged but didn't say anything. Did he _want_ her to stay? And if he did, why couldn't he just ask her to? Because if she knew that he wanted her company, she would stay. At least until Saturday. She could catch the evening train on Saturday and be home in time for supper on Sunday.

They quickly reached the main thoroughfare of Charleston and went past the tea house, past the telegram office and then past the theatre, which still had posters up for La Sylphide. She wondered when the production was ending and Hélène's residence terminating. Usually ballets only played for a couple of weeks, before they moved on to another city.

As they went past a hotel, Scarlett felt Rhett's body stiffen. She looked up at him but he wasn't looking at her and so she turned her eyes to where he was staring. But she couldn't see anything. Or anyone in particular. She looked at him again and he had started smiling – but it seemed forced. More of a grimace.

And then she saw her. She didn't need to be told who she was or wait for introductions. She _knew _this was Hélène. Only ballerinas stood so upright and with such poise and grace.

Rhett slowed the buggy and then he pulled up beside her. He tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, Hélène. It's quite a fine afternoon."

She smiled up at him, a warm, genuine smile that seemed to light up her face. "Good afternoon, Rhett," she said and then she looked at Scarlett.

"Forgive me. This is my wife, Scarlett."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Butler," Hélène said.

Scarlett tried to force the corners of her mouth to go up. "And you, Miss…Mrs…"

"Miss Malet," she said with a hint of a French accent. So the woman wasn't married, Scarlett mused.

"My mother had a wonderful time at the ballet last night," Rhett said. "She was sorry that she didn't get to properly speak to you, but I am sure you were rushed off your feet and being pulled in all directions. Has it gone well?" As Hélène replied, Scarlett studied her. She was certainly elegant and she could tell, that in her youth, she had probably been some beauty. But there was a harshness around her mouth and her eyes seemed sad, vacant almost. She was at least ten years older than she was, Scarlett guessed. Was this really the woman whom Rhett was…what was that word those women on the train had used? Smitten? Was Rhett really _smitten_ with this woman, so smitten that he was ready to emigrate to Paris with her?

"Scarlett?" Rhett nudged his wife in the ribs.

"Sorry, Rhett, what were you saying?"

"You'll have to forgive my wife, Hélène, she's had quite a tiring day. A tiring few days in fact. Well, we had better be getting back home. Good afternoon," he said again and jerked the reins to start the horse.

_My major problem with GWTW is that I definitely think Rhett meant his words when he said them to Scarlett on the night of Melly's so if they reconcile it has to be believable (and no Frith's Darcy – I won't make their reconciliation so pathetic! Your review made me laugh. I have actually had the end of this story in my head since chapter 1 and the last words are spoken by Rhett – it was the middle that only became clear around Chapter 8). i.e. believable that he meant those words on that mist filled night and the reconciliation is believable too._

_I have also always struggled with how he abandoned Ella and Wade – just like that (although I have my own plot line on that which will become clearer in about 3 chapters time)._

_So I have written most of the next chapter but I am having doubts about the steam (yes, they do get it on). And I am also worried that it might be a bit too explicit for a "T "rated story. I might keep it for another story as I don't want to offend/upset some of my most loyal readers. I'm thinking about it. But it is written._

_Loving Dixie's modern take on GWTW "It's a Girl's World" – and just wish Miss Ondine would update her wonderful, wonderful One of Those Days. And I am so sad that Eugenie Victoria's hilarious and beautiful piece "It's Complicated!" seems to have been abandoned. Great modern pieces if you want something different!_


	38. Chapter 38

_So, the steam is written but is in Chapter 39 which is almost finished. But after I wrote this, I thought that (a) I should just post (there have been so many fabulous updates recently) and (b) I think the steam should almost be a separate chapter because I think it naturally falls within a new chapter (which people can skip quite easily if they want without losing the storyline!). Sorry to disappoint you for not managing to slot it in here – but I thought I should upload what I have written and then get Chapter 39 out by the weekend/on Saturday._

_Thanks to all my reviewers – especially the newer readers to the board like Diana and Jessie Mac! And of course to the stalwarts- Julia, Guardian Spirit, Dixie, Ondine, gbella, Iambq, Lawdy, Anna, the Melodies. All of you._

_And comments from last chapter – yes, the butterfly was meant to show a maturer Scarlett – and also someone whose life was no longer as hectic. Did she ever just sit back and enjoy her adult life without worrying about money, pregnancy, Ashley falling out of love with her?_

_Oh - and thank you Lawdy for pointing out my errors with the canon - I need to go back and amend the previous chapter. Rhett's father's plantation was rice and was burnt down._

Chapter 38

The house was empty and peaceful when they arrived back. Miss Eleanor had gone over to Aunt Eulalie's and Aunt Pauline's for supper and Mammy had accompanied her. The other servants had made themselves scarce, except for Sally who was pottering about in the kitchen, slicing, dicing and putting together a stew.

Rhett escorted Scarlett back into the house before he, too, made his excuses, and left although not before telling her that supper would be served at seven o'clock and that, as it would only be the two of them, she was free to wear whatever she wanted so long as it wasn't black.

Scarlett retired to her bedroom and dozed for a while before she called Mary to help her dress. Her wardrobe was spartan and drab and the only vaguely suitable dress that wasn't black and was not travelling attire was dove grey, uninteresting, and covered her neck. She pulled it out of the closet and not for the first time did she wish she had come to Charleston on her own terms and properly prepared. And then she thought forlornly of the beautiful emerald green gown that lay languishing at the seamstress in Atlanta.

After Mary had helped her into the dress, Scarlett dismissed her and then sat down at the vanity and pinned her hair loosely back, allowing some wisps to escape from the grips. At least she could make her_ hair_ pretty, she thought, before remembering that she had sold her jewellery and therefore had nothing to weave through it. Nor did she have any earbobs or rings that might add some sparkle to her toilette. Had she ever appeared plainer? And this might be the night that…She stopped herself. She was only having supper with Rhett, she reminded herself. Even if he had suggested she stay a day or so longer. Even if he had kissed her earlier in the day. Even if he had been _nice _to her all afternoon.

When she went downstairs to the dining room, her husband was already there, standing at the sideboard, pouring some burgundy into two large crystal glasses. She stood watching him, unseen, for a few moments as he inhaled the aroma and then swilled the red liquid in his mouth. He had changed into a darker suit and wore a pale grey cravat. She could tell he was freshly shaven and for a brief moment she wondered if he had disappeared earlier in order to prepare himself for tonight before she quickly dismissed the notion. How ridiculous to think that her husband would make an effort for her!

He looked up when she entered, her stomach already full of bilious nerves.

"That's better," he said, in his familiar, nonchalant manner. "I can't bear you in black. The diktats of society sometimes go too far. You should at least be able to wear colour in your own home."

She smiled at him, wishing now that she had dabbed some rouge on her cheeks. She didn't feel particularly attractive in the ill-fitting dress that she had on, even if it wasn't black. And she wanted him to find her attractive tonight. If this was going to be their last supper, then she wanted him to remember her as pretty. If truth be told, she wanted him to even desire her. He needed to remember what he was giving up and she wanted to walk out of his life – if that was what he wanted – with her head held up high.

He walked towards her and placed a chivalrous kiss on her hand before he pulled a chair out from the table for her. She took it, already feeling too warm in what she was wearing.

"I took the liberty of opening this bottle of wine without checking that it was alright with you." He showed her the bottle and then sat down adjacent to her, his knees knocking against hers.

"I'm sure it's fine, Rhett," she said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the occasion and not exactly knowing what to say. She reached for her glass and took a couple of sips. How strange to feel nervous about sharing a meal with her husband! Hadn't they shared plenty during their marriage?

Mary brought in the food and served it and then they were on their own again.

She picked up her cutlery and began to eat but when she looked at her husband, his plate remained untouched and he seemed to be transfixed by her left hand. She glanced down at it and quickly withdrew it to her lap, her plain wedding band almost incongruous in its simplicity. She braced herself for his question but it didn't come and instead, he picked up his knife and fork and began to eat, before entertaining her with anecdotes from his youth and his escapades in the seedier parts of London and Paris.

After an hour or so, Mary cleared the plates and served a rich chocolate torte with coffee. Rhett poured each of them a small cup and, handing one to his wife, he said quietly. "Scarlett, why did you change your mind about coming to Charleston in June?"

The unexpected nature of the question startled her and she felt her stomach somersault.

She reached for her cup and took a couple of sips, inadvertently blistering her mouth. "Why are you bringing this up?" she finally replied.

"Call it…er…curiosity." He shrugged his large shoulders but she could tell by the way his eyes suddenly bored into her that it was more than that.

She glanced down to her coffee cup and twisted it round in its saucer. "I told you at the time, Rhett," she mumbled. "I had a lot of-"

"No. The real reason," he interjected calmly. "That was the excuse. What was the reason?"

She arched her eyebrows. "Are you accusing me of lying?"

"Well, I'm not sure I would have put it that baldly. But if that's what you want to call it. Yes."

She sat still trying to think of what she could say that would sound plausible. And hoping that for once in her life, he wouldn't read her.

When she hesitated, he spoke again. "So you refuse to answer?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said quietly. Why was he asking her about all of this now, months later? When it no longer mattered?

"I never had you as a coward before, Scarlett," Rhett said softly.

She straightened her back and her cat's eyes flashed with indignation. "I'm not a coward, Rhett," she retorted.

"Well then darling, please enlighten me." He swigged his coffee and then pushed the cup away before he leaned in to his wife. "What was the real reason for you not coming to Charleston in June?"

He was so close to her, she could smell the coffee on his breath and he was making her feel uncomfortable. "Why does it matter? When has anything I've done or not done in the last twelve months really mattered to you?"

He didn't blink and neither did he rise to her bait. "It's a simple question Scarlett. Please answer it. I need to know."

"I don't see why you need to know," she said sarcastically. She was beginning to feel cornered, and uncertain what trap he was leading her into. She glanced up at the clock that was ticking methodically towards nine o'clock and wondered if she could just bid him goodnight and go upstairs to her bedroom.

"No, I expect you don't. That's always been part of our problem."

"Our problem?"

"Yes. One of the many problems."

"If we had any _problems_, Rhett, it's because you never spoke honestly with me."

"Well then, let's try to bring some honesty into our relationship, darling. As they say, better late than never." She looked up at him and caught his eye and despite his attempts at levity, she could read his determination. He was not going to let the matter rest, not until she had answered satisfactorily. Though God only knew why he wanted to know now. Fine, she would tell him, if he was so insistent! After all, she was the injured party in all of this, not him.

"I didn't go because….because of your behaviour!" she spat out.

It was as though she had physically slapped him, because he suddenly retreated back into his chair. She glared at him as his face changed from blandness to confusion. "My behaviour?"

"Yes," she said quietly, knowing that her explanation wouldn't satisfy him. But at least it bought her some time.

There was a pause as he reached for the wine bottle and poured himself another glass. "Because I kissed you and…touched you…?"

She didn't say anything. How could she explain her feelings to him when having someone in his bed was a regular occurrence?

He raised his eyebrows at her, in familiar mockery and reached for his cigar case. "If my memory serves me correctly, Mrs Butler, I think you kissed me back. It was actually quite a delicious kiss. I, for one, wasn't disappointed."

"It wasn't because you kissed me!" she hissed, blushing. Even now the memories of his kisses, the way his hands expertly roved her body, made her colour.

"So you were worried I might take advantage of you? If you spent two weeks with me in Charleston?" he continued, striking a match to light his cigar.

"No…" she replied unconvincingly.

"You're lying," he chided and again his eyebrows arched. She started twisting the table cloth between her fingers, wishing once again that she was inscrutable. Oh, how he would laugh at her if he knew that she had indeed dreamt of him taking advantage of her! How he would laugh at her if he knew she had woken up on that morning, giddy with excitement, like a new bride, rather than his wife of seven years! But she couldn't let him know, because…because…

"Rhett, please. It wasn't _that_."

"Well, then, what was it? Please tell me." He flicked some ash from his cigar onto a plate and then inhaled. She still didn't say anything. She was trying to think quickly but her brain was failing her.

He leaned in and in a hushed tone said. "You would have been right to have been worried, Scarlett. Spending any time with you is difficult because I do want to-"

"It's because you humiliated me!" she blurted out. He leaned back to take a better look at her. She had her arms crossed and her jaw had hardened in the way that was reminiscent of her father. "You humiliated me," she repeated.

He remained silent for a moment and then he spoke, all mockery gone. "How Scarlett? If I had thought that you hadn't wanted me to kiss you, I wouldn't have."

"It wasn't the kiss."

"I'm pleased to hear it. Most women like kissing me," he said, smiling, which only served to rile her. She breathed in deeply, biting back a venomous retort. How on earth had she ever managed to marry someone as arrogant as the man next to her!

When she didn't speak, his smile evaporated and he looked at her seriously. "I have to say darling, that your actions in June were rather hurtful and totally incomprehensible. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what happened."

Hurtful! _Her_ actions were hurtful! How dare he twist the events of June so that he now claimed the hurt! _She_ hadn't been the one that had gone to bed with someone else!

"How exactly did I hurt _you_?" she whipped back.

"You're always so oblivious aren't you?" His tone was icy.

"How did I hurt you?" she repeated. "You hurt me!"

"How?"

"How?"

"Yes. How? How did I hurt you?"

Forgetting that her question remained unanswered, she began to reply, "You made me feel…" But her voice trailed off as she thought of her red haired rival. How had she the former belle of five counties ended up with a rival who was a prostitute? And even more, how could she even begin to explain how he had made her feel without him laughing at her?

"How did I make you feel?" His voice was gentle but she didn't trust him. Instead, she tried to think of how to most eloquently describe her feelings.

"You…" she began but once again, her mind emptied. If only she had the vocabulary of the man who sat before her!

"Scarlett darling, how did I make you feel? I'd quite like to know. It would solve one of the biggest mysteries of the last three months for me. Probably of my life."

She tried to think again but the only word that came to her mind was something wholly inadequate. "You made me feel…cheap," she murmured.

"Cheap?"

She nodded.

"Cheap? Well that's a new accusation." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Cheap?" he repeated.

How did he not understand! "Rhett, when you were…kissing me…in the dining room, I was so close to…" she cast her eyes down. "I was so close to…well you know…"

Something flickered at the back of his eyes as he stared at her. "There have been enough misunderstandings between us, Scarlett. Please say it."

She swallowed. "I was so close to…sleeping with you…"

"Sleeping with me?"

"Yes and…and…all that that entails." He looked as though he was trying to stifle a laugh but he emitted no sound and within seconds his mien was once again contemplative.

"So I hadn't misread you. You did want to."

"If…well, if we had that time, I wanted it…well, I wanted the night to mean something to you. Because I knew it hadn't the last time."

"The last time?"

"Back in April. You know…" Again, she failed to complete the sentence.

"How do you know it hadn't meant something?" he mumbled. But she ignored him.

"And so – even though I wanted you – I thought that…I wanted it to be different. I wanted to be sure and I thought that if we spent two weeks together in Charleston that, maybe, just maybe, we could find some way forward." She paused for a moment and then stumbled on. "I mean, in our marriage. Try and reach some compromise that both of us could live with. And then I got up early that morning – I wanted to go to the store to sort some things out - and I saw you."

"You saw me?" He looked at her with blank incomprehension.

"I saw you on Marietta Street, walking back from…" she paused again. "From that…" she fumbled around for the right word. "That establishment."

"From Belle's?" he asked.

She nodded.

He took another drag from his cigar as he considered her words. "Well, I _had_ spent the night there, Scarlett." As he spoke his eyes finally widened with understanding. "But you thought that I had spent the night there…with a woman?"

"Well, hadn't you?"

He shook his head slowly. "No…I…well, yes, but…well not exactly." For the first time in the history of their marriage she thought he looked uncomfortable. He suddenly reached across the table and cupped her head in his hands. "Honey, do you really think so little of me that I would have gone from you to someone else on that night?"

"You've done it before," she replied, unable to hide her hurt.

"Not when I knew that your…emotions…were so…" His voice trailed off but his hands remained cradling her face. He cleared his throat. "Darling, do you really think I care so little about you?"

The present tense wasn't lost on Scarlett. What was he saying? Was he saying something different to what he had been espousing for the last ten months? "I don't know what to think," she said finally and then she cast her eyes down to avoid his searching stare and twisted her head out of his clutches. She wasn't quite ready to bare her soul and she had never been entirely convinced that he didn't have some magical power that enabled him to penetrate her mind. "I've never understood how you think. Not really."

He sighed. "I did go to Belle's and I did see her – but not in the way you think. You know she is an old friend of mine and there was quite a crowd there that night. And I ended up playing poker until God knows what hour because I kept on losing. And I hate to lose. At _anything_. I played the worst I have ever played - I lost quite a lot of money that night because I wasn't focussed – because I was…thinking of the children and…you…and what we could do in Charleston and where I could take you. And I wondered if perhaps not all was lost between us and that maybe some time in another city, away from the memories, when you didn't have to worry about how your actions might be interpreted…when you might feel freer, when you could relax and perhaps drop your guard…I thought that perhaps we could do what you had asked. Or what you had insinuated. Because you were right in April. I never gave you – or, rather, us - the opportunity of trying to see what being married to you would be like. If you actually loved me. I wondered if we could find our own peace. Together, with the children. And I thought Charleston might be a better place to try and find it than Atlanta."

He leaned in closer towards her and kissed her on her forehead and then his eyes hovered over her lips.

She pulled slowly away and looked at him suspiciously. "So…you didn't spend the night with Belle or anyone else?"

"Not in the way you think. I didn't actually _sleep_ that night or even lie in a bed. Or do anything else in a bed." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I went back to the hotel and probably closed my eyes for half an hour or so in a chair and then bathed and ate some breakfast and then came round to the house. You have a wonderful habit darling of being unpredictable – even though you are so readable." He stopped for a moment and then continued. "I wish that I had pushed the point, now. Back in June. But I was so angry. And hurt. I didn't understand. It was as though you had deliberately reeled me in and then cast me out just as quickly."

"It wasn't deliberate. I was trying to protect myself. I thought-"

"You thought wrong."

He drained his wine glass and then looked at her, as though he was trying to read her mind.

Did this revelation change anything? Had he just said that he wanted to try and see if something was salvageable from their marriage? Or was he looking to see if they could build something new? Was that what the note with the clock had meant?

"Where does this leave…us?" she finally said.

He stubbed out his cigar and leaned back in his chair before answering quietly. "I don't know, Scarlett. But I'd like you to stay a bit longer."

"I can't stay forever. And I'm certainly not going to wait for you to make up your mind and decide what you want to do. Because that could be months or years. Or…or…never."

"I'm not asking you to stay forever. I'm just asking you to stay for an extra day or two."

"I need to get home."

"So you've said."

"I do, Rhett. One parent abandoning the children is hard enough on them without them thinking I've waltzed off too!"

He flinched ever so slightly. "You could stay for a few more days though, couldn't you?"

She shrugged.

"You could if you really wanted to."

She sighed audibly. "I suppose so." She looked directly at him. "If I knew for certain that you wanted me to."

"Is that a question, Mrs Butler?"

She shrugged again and then picked up a glass of water. "I'm not sure that I know what you want, Rhett. I know what _I_ want, but…" Her sentence lay hanging in the air between them as he continued to hold her gaze.

Finally, he broke the trance and got up from the table and went to the sideboard. He brought the decanter of port to the table and poured himself a glass. "Do you want some?"

She shook her head. She had had enough to drink tonight and she wanted to keep her sensibilities. She didn't want to find herself in her husband's bed and then regret it in the morning. And she felt she was on dangerous ground.

Rhett lit another cigar and exhaled a couple of smoke rings as she watched them disperse into the air. "What do you want, Scarlett?" He spoke almost breathlessly and for a brief second, Scarlett wondered if he was nervous.

"You…you…know what I want."

"Remind me," he said softly.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and the familiar clamminess of her hands. Why was he making her say this again? "I want you to come home, Rhett. To Atlanta."

He cocked his eyebrow at her but didn't say anything.

She continued. "Can we not try again? Can you not try to live with me and the children? Would it really be so difficult to try?"

"But you know-"

"I know you don't love me, Rhett," Scarlett interrupted, not wanting him to repeat his mantra. "I understand all that. But couldn't we _try_ and re-build our relationship? Wasn't that what you meant by the clock?"

He looked puzzled for a moment and then his furrowed brow smoothed. "You have the clock? How do you have the clock?"

"Your mother gave it to me when she came to Atlanta."

He smiled. "I wondered where it had gone. I thought Mary or Sally must have put it away somewhere."

"I want to prove to you that I can be a good wife. I want to prove that you can find your grace and peace with me and the children. We used to be friends. Before we got married." And then she whispered under her breath as she rubbed her hands on the apron of her dress. "Maybe we should never have got married. Maybe _that _was the problem."

"Well, that would never have worked?"

"Why? We'd at least probably still be friends."

"Because it would have killed me, Scarlett."

"Be serious."

"I am. As I told you in October, I was so frustrated with the situation between us, that I might well have killed Frank if he hadn't died when he did. Or been killed myself. I wasn't lying Scarlett. I couldn't bear to think of you living with him…sleeping with him…and when you were pregnant with Ella…." His voice trailed off. "The idea of you lying in his arms used to make my blood curdle."

"I hardly used to lay in his arms!" she scoffed.

"Well you had Ella didn't you?"

She blushed.

"I always felt you were my woman. It's not a particularly pleasant thought to have to think of you sharing someone else's bed." Then he turned away from her but not before she heard him utter into the night air, "Even now."

Immediately, she thought of Jack and his reaction to Jack's pseudo proposal. "You don't want me but you don't want anyone else to have me either," she smarted. "How is that meant to work, Rhett?"

"Oh I want you, Scarlett," he said twisting his head back towards her.

"Not in the way I want you to want me."

"How do you want me to want you?"

She paused as she contemplated her answer. "As your wife. As your friend. As your lover. Maybe…maybe even as the mother of your children."

She heard him suck in his breath and then he picked up his cigar that he had put down and inhaled on it. Perhaps she shouldn't have said the last thing. Had she pushed him too far? But if he was going to force her to lay her cards on the table, it might as well be all of them.

He surprised her.

"As your lover? That's an interesting choice of word, Scarlett."

"Why?" She heard her voice shake.

"Doesn't that suppose love?"

She swallowed. "Not…not necessarily. You haven't loved all your…lovers…have you? And you told me that…" She paused as she tried to find the right words. "You told me in October that you didn't want to risk your heart a third time. So I doubt you're looking for love any more, Rhett. Are you?"

He didn't answer.

She sighed. "Rhett, I…I want you to come home. Or at least think about it. But I'm not going to beg." He picked up his napkin and folded it absentmindedly but still remained silent. "And…and… if you decide not to come back to Atlanta…with me…then…I don't want to see you again. Or not for a good few years. The children can come and visit but I won't be coming to Charleston again and there is no real need for you to return to Atlanta. I've salvaged as much of my reputation as I need to or care to and if I keep my head down, then I don't need you to protect me from further damage."

He stared at her, unblinking, and not for the first time did she wonder what he was thinking. Then he stood up and walked over to her chair. Her eyes swivelled in his direction before he was behind her and she could only feel his presence. He leaned in towards her and then she felt his strong arms go round her. "You're willing to take that much of a risk on me?" he whispered. She felt her throat constrict with emotion and she couldn't speak. She nodded. "And what happens if it doesn't work out?"

She willed the tears, that had suddenly gathered in her eyes, not to fall. "That's my risk, Rhett. But at least I'll know that we tried. That you gave me a chance. And that's all I'm asking for."

She rose from the chair forcing his arms to drop to his side. But he continued to block her exit, his large frame dwarfing her own. She turned her head up to meet his coal black orbs. And for the first time since Bonnie had died, they seemed to have some semblance of life. They were no longer the dark never ending holes she had been used to seeing. That had haunted her dreams for the last twelve months.

"That's all?" he whispered as he traced an index finger across her lips.

She nodded slowly again but then she shook her head. "No. There is one other thing. If…if you came back to my bed, Rhett, I would need you to be faithful. I…I think you said earlier today that you could be faithful if you had a wife who wanted to be in your bed. Well, I would want to share your bed but…there can't be anyone else. That would be my condition. My only condition."

He smiled and then he leaned towards her and brushed her lips with his own. She didn't move but was conscious of her heart beating faster and she wondered if he noticed. She closed her eyes, ready for him to kiss her properly, but he didn't and the she heard him move away from her, and when she opened her eyes, he was pouring himself another drink from the decanter.

His gaze was steady, contemplative and he was leaning against the sideboard. He remained mute as she stood before him, twisting her thumbs against the palm of her hand.

"Well I might as well go to bed," she finally offered. "Good night, Rhett." She walked out of the door and even though she wanted to, she didn't turn round.

_Thank you for your patience dear readers. We are only two hours or so away from the real action. Which I should post by the end of this week – or Saturday at the latest._

_This chapter was for a lady whose name begins with A. She knows why. Thank you for the kick I needed!_

_PS Maybe it's just me but I always thought Rhett was pretty casual in using "my dear" and "darling" but he rarely called her "honey". And in this chapter, I am trying to show Rhett as the coward. He can't quite bring himself to tell her he loves her but instead he tries to show her._

PPS not sure "cheap" would have been used in Scarlett's day. And how would they have said the word "sex"?


	39. Chapter 39

_Maturish content. If you don't like this sort of thing, you can easily skip without missing the storyline._

_This is for Ondine who was the best thorn in my side for this chapter!_

_Thank you to Lawdy for persuading me that the middle section wasn't cringeworthy. If it is, you have two people to blame! ;-)_

Chapter 39

When she had shut the door, she removed her slippers and sat on the bed. She needed to think but her head was spinning and she was struggling to separate reality from her dreams. Had her husband actually articulated that he wanted to come home with her or had she imagined it? He had asked her to stay in Charleston – that much she could remember. But the rest?

She sighed and then rang for Mary to help her undress. The maid dutifully helped her, making small talk about a fundraiser which was to be held at the town hall next week, before she disappeared and left Scarlett alone with her thoughts.

Scarlett slumped onto her vanity stool and began to methodically unpin her hair, allowing it to fall in waves around her shoulders and carelessly scattering the grips around her. Then, she picked up her hairbrush to begin her nightly ritual of one hundred strokes. What was the point in any of this, she mused despondently, if there was no one to tell her she looked beautiful?

She peered into the mirror and, for the first time in a long while, she looked discerningly at herself. Even in the dim gas light, she could make out faint lines around her eyes and slightly more pronounced lines on her forehead. She pulled a face and then she caught sight of a silvery thread woven amongst her tresses. She plucked it out and then looked critically at it. It wasn't the light playing tricks on her, it was definitely grey. She grimaced and then started combing the rest of her hair with her fingers, feeling more and more panicked but then she abruptly stopped. If she had more grey hairs, she would rather not know. Not tonight. Not whilst she was still in Charleston, feeling vulnerable anyway. She would think about getting older another time.

She picked up the brush again and, as she reached the hundredth stroke, she heard Miss Eleanor's carriage return. Moments later, she heard her mother-in-law's graceful footsteps glide over the back patio accompanied by the heavier tread of Mammy. There was a low hum of conversation, interspersed with occasional soft laughter before it abruptly stopped as the women bid each other good night. The catch on the back door went and Miss Eleanor entered the house and then walked up the staircase, seconds later joined by Mary, who must have been waiting up to help her mistress undress and get ready for the night. And then there was silence. The house was shutting down.

Scarlett tidied her vanity and then sloped towards the bed. She didn't feel tired at all and if she had been in her own home, she might have crept back down to the parlour to sip some hot lemon and watch the moonlight shadows out on the veranda. But she wasn't and she didn't want to risk running into any of the servants who might not have the good grace to ignore her presence. And neither did she want to risk running into her husband. In case he had gone out for the night and thought she was waiting up for him.

She sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time and snuggled down under the coverlet and then lay on her back looking at the ceiling, hoping it might provide some divine inspiration as to what she should do. She thought back over their muddled conversation. No, Rhett hadn't said that he would return to Atlanta. He had only asked her to stay in Charleston. They were two different things.

She turned over and closed her eyes but all she could see in her mind was the dark features of her husband. She turned over to the other side and opened her eyes and stared at the ivory wallpaper that was shimmering in the moonlight. But it was no good. Her mind refused to empty of Rhett. Oh, if only he had answered her questions! Cool and collected and as evasive as ever! How had he manage to side step the question about the meaning of the clock? How had he avoided telling her why he felt hurt when she reneged on her decision to travel to Charleston with him in June? How had he failed to answer her repeated pleas about trying again, trying to see if he could find his grace and peace with her and the children at home?

She reached out for the carriage clock by her bedside and brought it towards her. It wasn't even half past eleven. The night was going to be long and torturous and she felt no closer to getting to sleep than she had half an hour ago. She placed it back clumsily on the side table and wrapping herself in the covers, turned over again. And then again. And then again. She scrunched up her eyes and started counting silently, remembering how Ellen had used to sit on her bed when she couldn't sleep and told her to count sheep. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.

He had said that he had wanted her. _Oh, I want you _had been his exact words. Pretty unequivocal. And he had told her he didn't like the idea of her with anyone else. And then he had touched her lips with his finger and then his own lips. He had contemplated kissing her, hadn't he? Hadn't he? And she…she had wanted him to kiss her and she had wanted to kiss him.

She opened her eyes again. If he was in the house, he would likely still be awake. At least, in the old days, he would be awake. And if he was awake, he would talk to her, wouldn't he? She could go to his room now and ask her questions again and force him to answer. Yes, she could do that. She could ask him what he wanted. She could ask him if he would come back home. And she would refuse to leave until he answered her.

She flung back the covers and got out of her bed, almost tripping over the empty chamber pot that had not been properly pushed under the bed. She then stumbled over to her dresser and lit a couple of candles. Then, she looked down at what she was wearing – a cream, silk nightgown, with a tie at the front. The one piece of clothing she had brought with her that she _had_ bought in anticipation of her trip to Charleston. How ironic that the prettiest item in her wardrobe was a gown that no one else would see!

She walked over to her closest, fumbling in the dark for her green wrapper but she couldn't find it. Where had she put it?

Then, something inside her snapped. To hell with covering herself up! He was her husband and there was nothing wrong in him seeing her in her nightclothes. He had seen her plenty of times in her nightgown, as recently, even, as a couple of days ago!

She padded over to her vanity and spritzed some scent on her décolletage and hair. And then she walked towards the door and stood behind it for a couple of minutes, suddenly aware of her racing heart. Perhaps she should, after all, put a wrapper on, she debated. What if one of the servants saw her? She already thought they eyed her a bit suspiciously and she didn't want to scandalise anyone. And if Rhett was at home and he did see her like this, wasn't she sending the wrong signal? Or would it be the right signal? She shook her head. Oh she was so confused! If she slept with him tonight, would it make his decision to return to Atlanta with her any easier?

She creaked the door open a couple of inches. He was probably out anyway and would never even see her in this attire she reasoned. Then, she took a deep breath, and pulled the door all the way back. And for the second time in the day, she almost jumped out of her skin. Rhett was standing there, one footstep away.

She swallowed as her heart felt as though it might explode through her chest. "I…I…couldn't sleep," she finally whispered, unable to hide her nerves and not quite sure why she was the one feeling as though she had been caught out when _he_ was outside her bedroom door. How long had he been there for?

"I couldn't either," he whispered back, his voice husky from whisky and cigars.

She breathed in again and then exhaled, trying to still her senses. Trying to bring clarity to her whirling mind.

"But you're still…dressed…" she said.

"I know," he replied. "Perhaps I didn't try hard enough." He stared at her with that old intensity and she felt her legs quiver and heat rise to her cheeks. Thank God for the dark, she thought. Their eyes locked, and he gave her that look that he had often given her, the same look as he had given her when she had caught him staring at her at the last barbeque at Twelve Oaks – when she had felt as though he was undressing her. The same look he had given her over the dinner table tonight. The look that she now understood. That told her he wanted her.

It felt like minutes, but it could only have been a few seconds and then she took a small, tentative step towards him. And that action was all it took for his own barriers to be broken down. Suddenly, she was in his arms and he was kissing her – gently at first – and then with an increasing ferocity and she was kissing him back. And she felt as helpless and weak as a new born foal.

She stumbled into the bedroom as he pushed her back, his lips never leaving her own and then he kicked the door closed behind him. He slammed her against the wall and then started tracing his hands over her body before he untied the ribbon at the front of her gown. "What you do to me," he muttered as he nipped her ear and started kissing her long, lily white neck.

"What you do to _me_," she whispered.

His black eyes flicked up to her face. "What do I do to you?" he murmured.

Lots of things, she said silently but didn't vocalise. She reached out to kiss him again but he twisted to avoid her lips and instead cupped her face in his large hands. She was staring straight at him and suddenly felt very self-conscious. And young. And naïve. She wanted him in ways that she had never wanted any other man. Not even Ashley. In fact, she had never even thought of Ashley in the same way that she had thought of Rhett. Not really.

"What do I do to you, Scarlett?" he repeated, in the same sensuous, throaty tone. "You've never really told me. Your words in June were quite inadequate."

She still didn't say anything, hoping her eyes were expressive enough. "I know I make your er…heart flutter," he said, recalling what she had told him the night before she was supposed to travel with him and the children to Charleston. "What else do I do to you?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. Was this some sort of game to him? Did he want her to beg him to make love to her?

"You make me feel…helpless, Rhett," she finally said and for some strange reason she felt her eyes prick with tears. Oh dear God, she just wanted him to lift her up and take her to bed. Now. This was a new kind of torture. She remembered years ago, when they had first been married, how sometimes he would lie languidly on their bed with her, kissing her, touching her and then when she thought he was going to make love to her, he would pull away. And then he would do it all again, his eyes never leaving her face. Maybe it had been part of his plan to make her want him, to make her love him. To make her beg him to touch her, to kiss her. But she never had.

He started kissing her again, down her exposed neck to the point of her breastbone and her own throat elicited involuntary moans.

"Do I make you…shiver?" he said, as his hands pushed down the top of her nightgown and his lips found her breasts.

"Rhett…" she found herself saying as he arched her back against the wall. His hands scoped her figure and moved slowly down her nightdress towards her flat stomach. He stopped for a moment and looked at her again, his black eyes dancing with mischief and what she now recognised as desire.

"Do I make you…ache for me?" he murmured as he placed his knee between her legs, forcing her to part them. Any minute now, she thought, he was going to make her faint. All her nerve endings were tingling and she felt intoxicated, even though she had barely touched the wine he had tried to ply her with all night.

Was this what love was all about? Was this how you were meant to feel with your husband? She had never felt like this with anyone before, not even with the man who stood before her? She was kissing him hard, too, her teeth sometimes catching his, her tongue swirling around in his mouth, feeding off his own unique taste.

His hands roved back over her nightgown and he twirled the loose ribbons around his fingers before he leaned in for another deep kiss. He bit her lip and then freed his hands that had gone behind her and in one swift move, ripped her silk nightgown down the middle. She gasped but only for a second before his lips again covered hers.

Her nightgown slid down her alabaster skin pooling at her feet and she suddenly stood before him naked. But he wasn't looking at her body, he was still kissing her, and biting her lip, and her neck every now and then. Oh dear God. She. Wanted. Him. Now.

"Please Rhett," she finally managed to articulate. "Please…" Oh dear God. Why wouldn't he just take her to the bed? She felt like she was being tortured even if it did make her feel exquisite.

"I thought you didn't beg, Mrs Butler?" he said before his hands went down her stomach again and hovered over that most tender part of her body.

"Please…" she whimpered. "Please…"

"Please what? You haven't yet told me what I do to you," and then he reached between her legs and touched her there. "So, I make you wet, too, Mrs Butler?" he said and then he slipped one finger inside of her. And then another. And all the while, she was trapped. Naked. Against the damn, ivory, wall. And it felt heavenly.

She had been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed that he had shed his shirt and his shoes. As he kissed her and moved his fingers inside her, he used his other hand to unbutton his trousers and they too slid quickly to the ground. "Making love to you has never been hard, darling," he said as he removed his fingers and lifted her up, so that her feet weren't touching the ground. She was pinned against the wall.

"Rhett…" she moaned, though she had no idea what she wanted to say. Or ask. Only that she wanted this feeling to go on forever. That she never wanted him to let her go. That she loved him, so completely, so utterly, that surely him making her feel this wonderful was not a sin. And then, somehow, even as he kept her pinned against the wall, in a move that she would often think that he must have had a lot of practice doing, he removed his trousers in one swift move and then pressed her harder against the wall. She intuitively wrapped her legs around him and kissed him as though her life depended on it, as though he was the only person, the only living being that might be able to save her.

She shut her eyes, as he teased her with his fingers again and then he whispered hoarsely into her hair, a command that she had a feeling she dare not disobey. "Open your eyes. I want you to look at me," and so she tried to look at him, even though she wanted to drift off into another world. She cried out his name again, as he made contact with her, his hot breath panting against her nape and then her mouth. And then he kissed her hard again, biting her lips before he finally gave her what she wanted. Again. And again. And again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, she lay still, his limbs intertwined with hers and she started crying silently. She moved her head so that the tears fell onto the goose down pillow but not before a couple of drops fell onto her husband's arm. He tightened his grip around her and nuzzled her neck. He was awake and she didn't want him to be.

"Honey, what's wrong? You did…you did…want me didn't you?"

She swallowed a sob and nodded, afraid her voice would betray her. He shifted onto his side and started stroking strands of her hair away from her wet eyes. "You're crying," he said softly. "Darling, what's wrong? Is it something I've done?"

"Please Rhett," she managed to choke out. "Let's just go to sleep."

He pushed his elbow up so that his head was resting on his hand and then absentmindedly, he began tracing his fingers round the contours of her naked breasts. Suddenly she wished that she had something to put on, something to shield herself from her husband. But one nightgown was in tatters and her other one was tucked away in the closet.

"Scarlett, you've got to talk to me," he said.

"I'm tired Rhett."

"You can go to sleep in a minute. After you've told me what's wrong." He looked deep into her eyes and then kissed her gently on the lips.

"Promise me," she spluttered. "Promise me that you'll sleep with me again. That what just happened wasn't some sort of goodbye." She braced herself for his laugh and a barb of some sort that would make her feel childish and silly but he was silent. Instead, he took her head in his hands and leaned in to kiss her again.

"Honey, do you really think that I would…" His voice trailed off. "After all that you said to me earlier tonight, even back in April, do you think I would have just…er…had my way with you if I didn't want this to be the start of something new?" She bit her lip but she couldn't stop herself. Noiseless tears again began to trickle down the side of her face onto her damp hair.

"I…I…feel so vulnerable, Rhett," she managed to whisper. "I don't want to feel as I felt in April when it meant nothing to you."

"_I_ never said that it meant nothing. You certainly made me feel something again. Why do you think it meant nothing?"

She wanted to say – because you have been with so many women, because, what just happened, you have done countless times, but instead she closed her eyes again and then she felt his lips on her cheeks and then her mouth. He gently prised her lips open and then he rolled on top of her. Intuitively, she started kissing him back. Slowly, hesitatingly before his kisses became more heated and she found herself parting her legs for him. His hands moved up her body and then he felt between them again and looked intensely at her. "Scarlett," he said softly. "Please don't leave tomorrow."

"Why, Rhett?"

He cleared his throat and she briefly wondered whether he could be as nervous as she was. "Because, I…want you to stay."

"Why do you want me to stay?" she whispered.

"Do I need a reason?"

She paused for a few moments as she considered his question. "I think so."

"Because I have missed you."

"You've missed me?" she said disbelieving.

"Well, I've missed our arguments and your passion and..." He paused again, as though he was struggling to find the right word. Then he relaxed his body over hers. "I've missed you."

She looked up at him sharply. She had wanted him to say this to her for almost a year, or say something like it. She understood that he might not love her, but how could he just walk away from her after twelve years, seemingly so easily? He had been so stubborn, so caddish, so brutal to her at times over the past ten months. And so cold. Treating her as if she had been merely an acquaintance – not like the one person in the world he had ever truly loved.

She allowed his words to wash over her again. It was not the profession of love that she might have dreamt of but it was something. It was hopeful, it was a feeling. And it wasn't pity or kindness.

She breathed in sharply as she felt her emerald eyes water again. She lifted her head up to his ear and then she whispered, just before she kissed him again. "I've missed you too."

_I am conscious that for some of you this might be a bit…drippy/wet – but my Scarlett (who has done an awful lot of crying over the last few months, since Rhett left her and Melly died and she came to terms with the loss of Bonnie) is feeling super vulnerable here. And I think she would sleep with him again but I feel pretty sure it would crush her if he just used her for sex. Again. So she needs that reassurance._

_Oh and Miss Eleanor is deliberately making herself scarce. She likes Scarlett and sees that she is the right person for her son. So, with Mammy, she has been trying to get them to spend more time together. Alone._

_Someone asked why Scarlett and Rhett don't relocate to Charleston. I am clinging on to Scarlett's view as a 17 year old that she found it suffocating and besides, I never really got the impression Rhett loved it. Besides, I think that she would always want to be closeish to Tara and I think she would be mindful of unsettling her children (although us Brits are much more cautious about relocating to another part of the UK than you Americans)._

_Not sure when next chapter will be up – quite a lot going on in RL. But I think the story will end on Chapter 47. I've mapped it out. We have to still get through, Helene, Jack, the jewellery and some other things. And one of the many things that annoyed me with "Scarlett" was that they spent 800 pages getting back together and then finally, when it happened, that was it. It left me pretty frustrated. Oh, and Firth's Darcy – I am still mindful of the promise I made you. But bear with are still a fair few chapters to go._

_I have rightly been challenged on the use of the word "beg" - as thought Rhett is teasing her, playing her. Actually, this was meant to tie in with her proclamations when they were were having dinner "Rhett, I want you to come home...but I'm not going to beg." and was also meant to tie in with Chapter 15 where he told her "I have never had to beg for a woman". Maybe I was being too cute. But I also think that Rhett was one of those guys who could use his sexuality and masculinity to manipulate. And the sex scene here is meant to show that in the bedroom at least, he is in control, Scarlett is putty in his hands (as I imagine most women would be) but that afterwards, when the sex is done, he has to deal with the emotional repercurrsions. And his insecurity comes out and his concern that maybe she hadn't wanted him to sleep with her? But anyway - I think this chapter might be tweaked in due course. Thanks Agnes and also Iambq for your thoughts on this._


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Scarlett was dozing when she heard a gentle tap at the door. She yawned and then scrunched up her eyes tighter, hoping that it was her imagination but at the second knock, she cracked her eyes open and turned her head to look at Rhett, whose head had migrated to her pillow. His half of the bed lay empty and he was almost suffocating her with his body heat. She tried to wriggle out of his arms but he was holding her too closely.

"Rhett," Scarlett whispered, nudging his ribs with her elbow. "Someone's at the door."

"So?" he mumbled sleepily, keeping his eyes shut. "They'll go away. If you don't say anything." He tightened his arm around her waist.

There was a third tap at the door, this time a little louder. Scarlett's head pounded with fatigue, her eyes stung with tiredness and her whole body ached. Everything signalled to her that she had at least another couple of hours of sleep before it was time to get up. But when she looked across at the clock, she gasped. It was past ten o'clock! It was probably Mary coming in to help her dress. Oh dear God, what would the woman think if she saw Rhett in here with her?

"Rhett, it's past ten-"

"I think we should stay in bed all day, darling," he murmured, before his right hand began to caress her curves.

"Don't be ridiculous Rhett! We can't stay in bed all day. It's-"

"We can do anything we want Scarlett," he interrupted, still talking with his eyes shut. "Now please darling, I don't think I fell asleep until after six o'clock. We can talk later. Just -"

"Scarlett my dear," came a voice with a distinct Charleston drawl from outside the bedroom. Scarlett gulped. It was Miss Eleanor. "Do you mind awfully if I come in? I have brought you your breakfast."

On hearing his mother's voice, Rhett's black eyes opened and he immediately extricated himself from his wife's embrace before flinging back the covers.

"I'll go," Scarlett hissed, averting her eyes from her husband's nakedness. "Just pass me my wrapper."

"Where is it?" Rhett asked.

Scarlett sat up in bed, quickly dragging the covers up around her breasts. Of course she remembered now! She hadn't been able to find it. And that had been the precipice for the whole night! Her eyes darted around the room frantically searching for it but to no avail. It was probably under a pile of clothes in the closet and she certainly didn't want Rhett rifling through all her undergarments trying to find it.

"I…well hold on a moment," Scarlett said. "If you can just turn around, I'll get out of bed and-"

He started laughing at her, softly. "Darling, after last night, I don't think now is the time to erm…discover your prudish side." She scowled at him, and then picked up one of the pillows from the bed and threw it at him, knocking over a glass of water on a side table.

"Scarlett? Scarlett? Are you in there my dear?" came Eleanor's concerned tones as the splintering of the glass on the floor echoed round the room.

"Yes, Miss Eleanor," Scarlett called out. "I'm…please just wait a minute."

"Now look what you've made me do," she smarted.

Rhett looked at her and smiled. "_I _didn't make you do anything. Or at least I hope not." He shrugged on some trousers and put on his crumpled shirt, not bothering to properly button it. "I'll open the door," he whispered.

"Rhett!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low. "You can't! Your mother will know-"

He looked at her and then picked up her ripped nightgown from where it had pooled on the floor, allowing it to pass through his fingers and then he looked back at the bed that didn't have one sheet tucked in. He raised his eyebrows playfully. "And? Your point is?"

"Well, she'll know! I mean she'll know that you slept in here last night!"

"I expect she already knows. Does it matter?"

"Well, I…" She stopped speaking. _Did_ it matter? Wasn't this what married couples were meant to do? Share a bedroom, a bed, even make love to each other? But the room was a mess. There were clothes strewn everywhere, a vase had been knocked over, her hair pins lay scattered on the Persian rug from where Rhett had pushed her up against her vanity and now there was a broken glass on the wooden floor.

"Honey, don't worry. Besides, ever since she returned from Atlanta in June, I think she has been wanting this to happen." He walked over to the bed and reached in to kiss her on the lips. "I think she will be…happy," he said, grinning mischievously.

"Scarlett my dear? Are you alright?" Miss Eleanor's dulcet tones wafted through the air.

Scarlett cleared her throat. She supposed that her husband was right but still, to be caught almost in the act was acutely embarrassing. "Yes, Miss Eleanor. I'm…I'm just…I'll be ready in a moment." She looked back at Rhett, at his dishevelled hair, at his wrinkled clothes, his half undone shirt, his sleepy eyes and giggled. Had she ever seen Rhett in such a state of disarray?

He caught her smile and raised his eyebrows and then he turned around, walked towards the door and opened it. Scarlett braced herself.

"Oh my good Lord," Scarlett heard Miss Eleanor exclaim. Was that the first time she had ever heard her mother-in-law blaspheme? "What on earth are _you_ doing in here?"

Even though his back was turned, Scarlett knew Rhett was grinning. "My dear Mother. What a way to greet your favourite son! Good morning." She heard him kiss Miss Eleanor on the cheek. "Er…do you really want me to answer your question? Do you really want to know what I am doing in here? Or rather _was_ doing in here?" Oh he could be merciless sometimes, Scarlett thought as she squirmed underneath the covers, pulling them right over her head. How could he get away with saying the things he did? Thank God, Miss Eleanor couldn't see _her_.

"What I mean is, is Scarlett in there?"

Rhett twisted his head over his shoulder. "Darling!" he called out, in a playful, almost sycophantic, tone. "Mother wants to know if you are in here."

"No I do not!" admonished Miss Eleanor. Scarlett had never heard her mother-in-law flustered or anything other than serene and eloquent. "Rhett you're…oh! You're just impossible! Well, I'll leave you alone then."

Scarlett stifled a laugh.

"Mother, let me take the tray and if you wouldn't mind asking Mary or Sally to make me up a breakfast tray too and bring it here, that would be appreciated. An extra pot of coffee wouldn't go amiss either." He cleared his throat and he raised his eyebrows. "I'm…er…afraid, Scarlett and I have both overslept."

There was a momentary pause, before Miss Eleanor replied. "And about time too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhett finally left the ivory bedroom at eleven o'clock after Scarlett had refused to get up, unclothed, in front of her husband and after Rhett had similarly refused to pass her any clothing. As soon as he had closed the door, she ran over and locked it and then, suddenly remembering that Rhett had bought a nightgown for her, for her aborted stay in June, she padded over to the large chest of drawers and pulled open the bottom drawer and pulled out a delicate, ivory, silk gown. She quickly put it on, relishing the feel of the cool fabric on her skin before she walked to the large mirror in her closet and looked at herself. It fitted perfectly.

Then, she set about tidying the bedroom. The first thing she did was pick up her torn nightgown. Oh, how she wished she could burn it! If Mammy found it, she would die of embarrassment – but for the time being, she decided to stow it in one of the drawers of the vanity.

Then, she scampered towards the window and pushed the water logged books and papers that were next to the fallen vase towards the corner of the room and swept up her scattered hair pins with her hands before putting them back in to their pot.

Next, she tried to drag the sheets back to the corners of the bed and smooth the coverlet over it. Had she ever had a wilder night? she mused as she tucked in the sheets and then she giggled before the more painful memory of the night of Ashley's birthday party sprung to her mind. She didn't want to think about _that_ night, not today, when she felt so happy. The aftermath had been too black, the horrible words that both she and Rhett had flung at each other, on the morning he had left with Bonnie, too painful, even if the night itself had been full of exquisite pleasure. And then the miscarriage that followed that night. Had that been the beginning of the end? She grimaced and tried to push those memories out of her mind. She didn't want those thoughts or anything else disturbing her good mood.

She called for Mammy who ran her a bath and then helped her wash and dry her hair. Judging by the frequent – almost triumphant – looks the old Tara stalwart kept on throwing in her mistress's direction, Scarlett knew she knew. Had the happenings of last night already swept along Wycliffe House's grapevine? But she didn't care. She felt lighter and happier than she had in months – years even. Rhett hadn't told her that he loved her but he had told her that he had missed her and more importantly he had told her that he wanted last night to be _the start of something new_. New! She liked that word. New! New meant something different. It meant discarding the old. They could start something new and avoid the mistakes of the past. And she had even confessed to him that she felt scared. About him, about them, and he hadn't laughed at her. Maybe a leopard could change its spots! Maybe she could learn to trust him again with her feelings – like she had long ago, before their marriage and her old childish notions of romantic love had ruined it all. Hadn't he been her one true confidant? Couldn't he, in time, become that person again, when she didn't have to worry that he would use her words against her?

Mammy looked at the clock that was inching towards midday and with a couple of shakes of her wrinkled, ebony head, hustled Scarlett into her newest and most expensive black dress, whose one concession to fashion was a beautiful bustle at the back. Then she was dismissed as Scarlett pinned up her hair in a soft style, sprayed it with lemon verbena and dabbed some rouge subtly on her cheeks. She didn't need to look into the mirror to realise that three hours' sleep had done nothing for her complexion.

When she walked down to the parlour, Rhett was sitting with his mother, reading the newspaper.

Miss Eleanor looked up from her embroidery as she entered. "Good morning my dear," she said.

It didn't go unnoticed by Scarlett that Miss Eleanor had tactfully avoided her usual question about whether or not she had slept well, but Scarlett still felt herself blush. There was no doubt Miss Eleanor knew – she had seen Rhett in her bedroom – and then Scarlett felt her stomach turn as she wondered whether Miss Eleanor had _heard_ them last night.

Scarlett forced an awkward smile and took the chair next to Eleanor. She didn't even look at Rhett, worried that if she did, Eleanor would read on her face everything that had transpired between them last night and into the early hours of the morning. She would never have believed that love making could literally last all night. Or that there could be so many ways in which to take pleasure.

"Would you like some tea my dear?" Eleanor asked, reaching for the teapot.

"Yes please," Scarlett replied, trying not to yawn. What she really wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep. On her own.

She heard Rhett crinkle the newspaper closed and then place it on the table. "Darling, why don't we go for a walk. It's not too hot today and we can go to the milliners that my mother was talking about and then we can go for tea at my brother and sister-in-law's. They have been pestering to meet you ever since you arrived in Charleston and if we visit them, then at least we won't have to entertain them and have the problem of them overstaying their welcome."

"Rhett!" Miss Eleanor chastised.

Rhett laughed. "I'm only telling the truth, Mother."

Scarlett looked at her husband. He looked so handsome, so devilishly good looking that if they had been on her own, she would have been tempted to go over to him and kiss him. "That all sounds lovely, darling," she purred. "And I do want to meet your brother and his wife but…well…" She paused. Didn't he realise that they really needed to get home? And if they were going to leave today or tomorrow – at the latest – she needed to pack. Surely he did too.

"It's just that I need to think about getting home. So perhaps, we could also go to the station or ask Clarence to go to the station and book us – me – on the train. The train tomorrow night leaves at nine o'clock in the evening. We… _I_ could be home by Saturday." She looked at him as she amended the sentence, silently hoping that he would tell her that he would buy them both tickets home.

But he didn't say anything and instead he just stared at her.

"Rhett?"

He dragged a tanned hand through his jet black hair as a silent panic engulfed Scarlett. He _was_ coming back to Atlanta with her, wasn't he? Wasn't that what last night was all about? Didn't he say that he wouldn't have come to her bed if he hadn't intended to come home with her?

"Rhett darling?" she repeated. How awkward having to conduct this conversation in front of his mother! If he was going to change his mind about them – about what last night meant – she wanted to know. But she would rather call him out on his behaviour without any one else in the room. She began to seethe, her nostrils flared and her green eyes flashed with fury.

"Rhett, if you-"

"Scarlett..." he cut in. "I've been thinking. Thinking that we should perhaps _not_ return to Atlanta just yet."

"But…"

"Please hear me out darling," he commanded quietly. "_I'm_ not ready to return to Atlanta. And I thought that-"

"And _I_ thought that last…I mean." She faltered as she remembered her mother-in-law's presence. "Well _darling_," the term of endearment rolled sarcastically off her tongue. "I have two children in Atlanta and it's high time I got back to them. I can't leave them with Aunt Pitty for ever! It's not fair on her and it's not fair on them." She could hear Miss Eleanor grinding her teeth in embarrassment as she frantically embroidered. She didn't care! She felt betrayed. She had given – willingly given – her body to her husband last night. Again and again. But she had done it on the basis of an unwritten pact between them and now, he was breaking it, not even twelve hours later. Just wait until they were on their own! She would give him a piece of her mind!

Suddenly, Eleanor put her embroidery down and got to her feet. "Darlings, darlings," she began, louder than she would normally speak. "Why don't I go to Atlanta? You're perfectly right, my dear Scarlett. You can't leave the children with your Aunt Pitty for much longer. It's not fair on her. I'll go with Mammy and look after them and make sure that Wade starts school again and that Ella's governess turns up. I haven't seen the children since the end of June and I miss them. And then you can come back to Atlanta when you are ready."

"We need to spend some time together, Scarlett. On our own. Without the distractions of children and the store. And the Wilkes's." Rhett volunteered.

"The _Wilkes's_!" Scarlett exclaimed. "How dare-"

"Scarlett darling," Rhett said calmly, trying not to laugh at the tantrum his wife was on the verge of throwing. "If my mother is offering then I think we should accept gracefully."

Scarlett breathed in sharply and bit her lip. Then she looked at Eleanor and then at her husband and then back at Eleanor. "But Miss Eleanor, I can't ask you to-"

"Nonsense Scarlett! Of course you can. Besides, you're not asking. I'm telling you. It's settled. I'll leave tonight. And I'd better start packing if I want to leave on the nine o'clock train." With an extravagant swish of her skirt, she left the parlour, but not before Scarlett heard her mumble almost inaudibly. "Perhaps I should have started interfering years ago."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N Hi everyone – a lot going on in RL and not much of it good. Trying to get my head round things so sorry for the short chapter but I wanted to post because not entirely sure when I will post again (but I am not retiring – not yet anyway!). I know some people think that we needed Rhett's confession about missing Scarlett first before she went to bed with him in the previous chapter but I suppose by doing it the other way round, I wanted to show that Scarlett often acts and then thinks later – eg Charlie marriage (although as Coco B once said and I agree – I think if he had lived, that marriage could have worked), saving Wade's sword, going back to Tara when Sherman sacked Atlanta._

_Anyway – the morning after – meant to be a bit unsure. I don't think they would immediately be all lovey dovey with each other._

_Completely off topic but something that reflects my mood at the moment – loved this part of Ben Affleck's Oscar acceptance speech. "It doesn't matter how you get knocked down in life – because that is going to happen. All that matters, is that you gotta get up." That's my new motto._


	41. Chapter 41

_Maturish content. Nothing too graphic._

Chapter 41

They walked to the milliners in the midday sun, a journey that should have taken half an hour if Rhett hadn't stopped every five minutes to say good afternoon to someone or another and to exchange social niceties. Scarlett dimpled sweetly at the various Charleston strangers that she was introduced to and was mildly amused at the way some of the women fluttered their eyelashes at her husband. She had forgotten how attractive her husband was to the opposite sex and she had also forgotten how her husband's good looks reflected so well on her.

When they reached the designated shop, Rhett took a seat at the back so that he could watch his wife preen and pout in front of the mirrors. "Anything but black," he had dictated, as he settled himself with a newspaper. "And choose four or five, darling."

Scarlett wrinkled her brow. "But what's the point, Rhett? I can't wear anything _but_ black for ages. Besides, I don't need any more hats. Really, I don't. I have enough back in Atlanta and by the time I can wear anything _pretty_ again, the fashions will have moved on." He peered over the newsprint and smiled mischievously.

"I never took you as someone who would look a gift horse in the mouth, Scarlett. You might have some in Atlanta but you don't have any here in Charleston, other than your black bonnet and that bedraggled grey thing that you travelled in. Besides, honey, I want us – or rather, you – to have fun today. Who cares if you can't wear them for a while?" and when the shop owner had disappeared to the front of the store to accept a delivery, he added in a hoarse whisper, "You can always wear them just for me. And _just_ the hat if you wish." And he winked at her.

Scarlett tried not to smile at his impudence but when he raised his eyebrows at her, she giggled.

It was fun shopping with Rhett. He had always taken a keen interest in what she wore and today was no exception. Every time she donned a new bonnet and turned in his direction for his verdict, he would either nod his approval or pull a face that indicated his indifference or dislike. And at one point, he even got up from his chair and tied the ribbons of a pale blue bonnet in a much more flattering way than the shop assistant had done.

"How lovely to have a husband who is so interested in your clothing, Mrs Butler, and who has such an excellent eye for fashion," the shopkeeper said, as Rhett handed over a large number of dollar bills.

Scarlett didn't say anything but merely smiled at the woman who was blatantly flirting with her husband.

"Please have the hats sent to Wycliffe House," Rhett ordered and then he ushered Scarlett out of the shop.

"Why are we in such a rush, Rhett? I didn't even have time to try on the three hats that she had had shipped over from Paris."

"I know darling but I want to take you to a couple of dress shops and we have to be at my brother's for three o'clock. I'm getting hungry. And not just for food," and he grinned lasciviously at her.

She tried to scowl but when he whispered something into her ear about the previous night, her brow smoothed and then she laughed. It was difficult being mad with her husband for long and she had forgotten how good he was at keeping her in a good mood.

When they arrived at the best dressmaker in Charleston, Rhett asked how quickly the gowns could be made up.

"It depends on the style, sir," the seamstress had murmured, manifestly uncomfortable at someone so masculine as Rhett Butler being in her dress shop. "And the number of gowns."

"My wife will need eight gowns," Rhett had replied. "And I'll pay double what you would normally charge if they are all ready by Wednesday morning."

"But it's Thursday today sir and-"

"I'm well aware of what day it is. You either want the business or you don't," he snapped impatiently.

"Well-"

"Good." He then turned to his wife. "Darling, select three evening gowns and five day dresses. I need to go to the bank and take care of some other business. I'll be back in an hour," he said. "And remember, no black." As he walked out of the shop, he spied a luxurious deep plum velvet material that was still half in its packaging and he stopped to run his fingers along the fabric. Casually, he called out to his wife, who was on the other side of the shop and whose eyes had already sought and found a pale green silk. "Have an evening gown made up of this," he ordered, indicating the plum velvet. "With onyx sewn into it. It will…er…match the jewellery set I bought you in New Orleans."

Scarlett glanced at him and a sudden nauseous feeling overcame her.

"Rhett, I…" She paused as she tried to gather her thoughts. And think of an excuse. "Onyx?"

"Indeed," he replied.

"But…but why?" and then she thought of its colour. Perhaps that could save her. "But it's black."

"That can be your one concession to your mourning, darling," and his mouth curled up into a smile that Scarlett didn't think was altogether genuine.

"Rhett…I…I don't even like onyx," she lied.

"Since when? I don't recall one jewel that you _don't_ like."

"But…it'll be far too extravagant. When would I ever wear a gown with onyx on its bodice?"

"I'll take you to a party when we…erm…return to Atlanta."

Scarlett didn't say anything, only aware of the rising sense of panic that was beginning to paralyse her.

"Do it for me, darling. Please?" Rhett said. She looked at him. It was almost as if he was playing a game with her but it would only be a game if he knew what she had done with her jewellery. Had Uncle Henry told him? Uncle Henry had been in Charleston at the end of July, which was some weeks after she had handed over her jewellery to him. But surely, Uncle Henry wouldn't betray her. As much as he liked Rhett, _she_ was his niece. And the mother of the only Hamilton that would carry on the family name.

She nodded and turned away so as to hide her guilty face and only started breathing again when she heard the bell over the door signal his departure.

The fun of selecting eight new gowns had disappeared. How was she ever going to explain what had happened to her jewellery to her husband? She could hardly pretend she had lost it. The odd piece – maybe – but not a collection worth fifty thousand dollars. But if he found out – or rather, _when _he found out – she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be in the same room as him, or even the same town. Perhaps, perhaps she could get Uncle Henry to explain and maybe, just maybe he wouldn't be so very angry. After all, Rhett had never really put much emphasis on material possessions she reasoned.

"Mrs Butler?" The seamstress broke her reverie. "Shall I take you upstairs to the fitting area?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"All these new clothes will be lovely Rhett but why do I need them?" Scarlett asked as she clambered into a cab to go to Ross and Geraldine Butler's house. "I won't even be able to wear any of them for three months," she added miserably. Black, black, black. She was twenty-nine years old and she felt as though she had spent half her adult life in the colourless monochrome. "And if you think I am going to stay in Charleston for the next three months, you are very much mistaken."

Rhett chuckled. "I had forgotten how impatient you are," he murmured. "And how delightfully obtuse."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she said, frowning.

He cleared his throat. "I thought you liked clothes, darling. Especially if someone else is paying for them."

"They'll be out of fashion by the time I can wear them," Scarlett sighed. "Is this another one of your games, Rhett? That you want to tease me by putting all these beautiful clothes in front of me knowing that I can't wear them!"

"You'll be able to wear them," he replied softly.

"Yes! In three months' time and then, knowing my luck, someone else will die!"

"Well, just be grateful that you can wear them at all. Your sister Carreen can't." Rhett retorted, his black eyes suddenly snapping with irritation.

Scarlett huffed but when her husband took her arm, she put up only weak resistance. "I had forgotten what being married to you was really about," Scarlett said icily.

He leaned into her hair and whispered. "And what was it that you had forgotten Mrs Butler? After last night, I have certainly been reminded of what being married to you should be about."

"Rhett Butler! Is that all you think about?"

"No. But you left an indelible image with your antics last night."

"An inedible image? My antics? What are you going on about?"

He grinned and then picked up one of her gloved hands and kissed the tips of her fingers.

She knew he was making fun of her but he was doing it in his old way. Not spitefully or maliciously. He wasn't trying to win the battle in the vain effort to win their war. She bit back a further retort and, instead, remembered how lovely he had been to her last night and into the early hours of the morning. How he had provided plenty of reassurance that he, too, wanted to try again. And how she had felt for the first time since he had walked out on her, that perhaps all was _not_ lost between them. And then she nestled her head against him and closed her eyes for the few minutes that it took them to drive to his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent a couple of hours in relaxed civility with Ross and Geraldine Butler at their small townhouse off Spring Street, which had been purchased with the generous help of Geraldine's father a few years before the War, and which they had anticipated filling with children. But after ten years, they had quietly accepted their barrenness and instead, thrown themselves into all manners of charitable causes, which had delighted Eleanor who had been keen for a while to pass on her own mantle to the younger generation.

Ross was a smaller, slighter version of Rhett, with the same dark hair, the same swarthy skin but he lacked Rhett's presence and, as the afternoon progressed, Scarlett realised he lacked her husband's intelligence too. He was slower witted and clumsy in his speech and on more than one occasion, Scarlett saw Rhett's upper lip twitch in irritation at some of the more inane comments his brother made. If Ross was like Rhett's father, she could see why they had never really got on but he was good natured and hospitable enough, even if he did seem to have a high opinion of himself and all his charitable deeds.

Geraldine was a plain, sweet-natured lady, who Scarlett reckoned was nearly forty. She looked old before her time, not helped by her wispy, grey hair that was scraped back into a severe unflattering bun which only emphasised the thinness of her face. She was tall and reedy, with no bust and Scarlett wondered unkindly what could have attracted Ross to her. But Rhett seemed fond of his sister-in-law – more so than his brother and as they were leaving, tucked several large dollar bills behind an old, cracked vase that was on the mantelpiece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By six o'clock, Scarlett and Rhett were back at Wycliffe House. Supper was already being brought into the dining room by Mary and Sally as they hung up their hats. "I thought we could all eat together before I go to Atlanta," Eleanor said, as soon as she espied Rhett and Scarlett. "Like a farewell supper. And I have asked your Uncle Henry to join us, Scarlett. He's catching the same train back to Atlanta with Mammy and me as he needs to get back to his law practice and he's…er…finished his business in Charleston. He'll be here shortly. He is just checking out of his hotel."

Supper was eaten in a jovial mood, the adoring, almost simpering, looks thrown by Eleanor in Henry Hamilton's direction, going largely unnoticed by Scarlett whose own attention was focussed on her husband and her anticipation of the night ahead. Rhett's legs brushed up against hers from time to time and when he shot her a couple of suggestive looks she blushed, thankful that she could blame the wine for the extra colour in her cheeks. But even though she enjoyed the company of Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry, she was keen for them to leave. She wanted to be alone with her husband – properly alone – like they had been on their honeymoon. When they could do whatever they wanted when they wanted. And hadn't had to answer to anyone.

Finally, the plates were cleared, coffee served and drunk and then everyone left the dining room - Miss Eleanor to tidy her toilette in readiness for the long journey ahead and Rhett and Uncle Henry to smoke cigar on the back verandas.

Scarlett wandered through to the parlour, sat on one of the plush sofas and began to thumb through the latest Godey's edition, trying to pass the time. In less than thirty minutes, the house would empty and Scarlett would be with Rhett.

It was Mammy that disturbed Scarlett's thoughts. Scarlett heard her heavy tread and the rustling of her multiple petticoats before she saw her.

"Miss Scarlett, Ah wan ter talk wid you before Ah leave fer Atlanta," she said as she walked, slightly gasping, towards the sofas, her gnarled hands clasped in front of her. Scarlett looked up at her old nursemaid and smiled. Thank goodness for Mammy she thought! Thank goodness the family – she, Ella, Wade - had her! And a warm rush of feeling towards the most faithful of her servants came over her.

"I'm listening," piped Scarlett and she stood up to emphasise the point.

"Well Miss Scarlett," she continued, her demeanour all serious and motherly_._ "You don't need ter rush bak to Atlanta. Miss Eleanor an' me we look after Master Wade an' Miss Ella. You need to spend time with Mista' Rhett. Like he say, you need to be on yer own." Then with tears in her eyes, she leaned in towards her mistress and hugged her, the first time she had ever in the forty five years she had worked for the family initiated an embrace. Scarlett collapsed willingly into her arms. "Ah see you an Mista' Rhett in Atlanta," she said and then she hurried out of the parlour towards the hallway, a couple of escaped tears sliding down her face.

Goodbyes were said quickly and suddenly, Scarlett and Rhett were on their own, Clarence having driven his mistress and her travelling companions to the station and the other servants disappearing to their quarters. It was eight o'clock.

Scarlett walked back into the dining room, poured herself a glass of wine from the decanter and sat down on one of the chairs. She sipped on the glass, expecting Rhett to join her but after five minutes, when he still hadn't appeared, she put the glass down and walked into the hallway.

"Rhett?" she called out. Where had he gone? He had been standing next to her only a few minutes ago.

She walked out onto the veranda and scanned the gardens but he wasn't there. Maybe he has gone to his bedroom, she thought as she re-entered the house, for surely he wouldn't have just left the house without telling her.

"Rhett?" she called out again and then she began to walk up the staircase. When she got to the middle steps, she heard his bedroom door open and then close and then his familiar step come towards her.

"I thought you had gone out for the evening!" Scarlett scolded gently as a sense of relief settled over her.

He met his wife's look, sheepishly. "Well…actually Scarlett…" he began before he walked straight past her towards the bottom hallway. "I do need to go out this evening. It's…unavoidable…" Scarlett frowned and then ran down the staircase. This wasn't how tonight was meant to go. How could he leave her this evening after the night they had spent together, after all his suggestive looks and remarks throughout the day?

"But Rhett, we have the whole house to ourselves and I was hoping…well…I thought we could…" Her voice trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what she wanted.

"I know darling," he said softly. "But really, I have to go out. I hope I won't be back too late but there's someone – something I have to sort out." She stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

"Rhett! I-"

"Hush darling," he said and he caught her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. "I'll be back before midnight," and then he leaned in and kissed her on her lips.

"Why couldn't you have dealt with whatever you have to do now, yesterday? At least I would have had your mother for company!"

"I had…other things…like you…on my mind, Scarlett."

"Well, exactly what am _I_ meant to do this evening, Rhett? Everyone's gone!"

He raised his eyebrows and then smiled mischievously. "Sleep? If my memory serves me correctly, I don't think you got much sleep last night and you have been yawning all day. In any event, you should preserve your energy because I intend to wake you up when I get back."

"If I _am_ asleep, Rhett, don't think you can wake me up," she snapped. "I'm not going to be at your beck and call. You…you can sleep in your own room."

Rhett laughed. "So there is still a _my_ room and a _your_ room! Fie, Mrs Butler. How fickle we are today! What did you say last night? I thought you wanted me to…er…sleep with you again." She blushed at the memory of her comment and then turned away. Why did he have to be away this evening, their first proper evening together? What was so pressing that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?

"Good night, Rhett," she said petulantly and she turned around towards the staircase. But he caught her arm.

"Darling," he said as he swung her towards his chest. "Don't be like this."

"Like what, Rhett?" she said sullenly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Act as though you are angry with me."

"I'm not _acting_, Rhett. I am angry."

"No you're not," he said calmly. She looked at him, to see if he was mocking her but he wasn't.

"I just wanted to spend the evening with you," she said honestly.

"Tomorrow," he said. "I promise we can spend the whole evening together tomorrow, Scarlett. I am still allowed to have a life, even if you are my wife." She glared up at him as she managed to shake free of his grip. Was he alluding to having a mistress? Had he forgotten what her condition was?

"And I am allowed to have a life too. I'm tired Rhett and if you have to go out tonight, then go. Just don't wake me up when you get back. I don't honestly see what you could possibly have to do tonight that can't wait until the morning."

"You'll see darling," and he planted a kiss on her reluctant lips, picked up his hat and walked out of the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much later, Scarlett was lying in bed, awake, having tried in vain to get to sleep. She heard the back door catch click and then a few moments later, Rhett's Indian like tread on the staircase. She turned her body so that she wasn't facing the bedroom door, wrapped the covers cocoon-like around her and then she tried to regulate her breathing, so that he wouldn't suspect that she was awake. And then she waited.

Eventually, she heard her own door handle turn and her husband pad over to her bedside, shoeless. A few moments later, she felt his weight on the mattress and his body inch towards hers.

"I'm not awake, Rhett," Scarlett mumbled, trying not to respond to his touch, as he stroked her body through her nightgown.

"Then, you're dreaming, honey," he whispered. He leaned right over her, moved her dark hair to one side and started kissing her exposed neck. Involuntary shivers went up and down her spine.

"Rhett…" she began which came out more as a plea to continue than a protest to stop. "Don't…please….I'm still mad at you…"

"Life's too short to be mad with me for long, Scarlett." His hands began to rove over her body and then he began to untie the ribbons of her nightgown and slowly move it up, above her calves, above her thighs.

He twisted her around so that she was facing him, and then he began to nip her lips as he pried her legs apart.

"Where were you?" she stuttered as she tried to ignore the tingling sensation that was coursing through her veins.

"Just somewhere," he murmured as his expert hands traced her curves.

"Where…is…somewhere?" she continued, wondering how he could make her feel so good when she was still angry with him.

"Nowhere that you need to concern your pretty little head about," he replied slowly, as he reached down to touch her most sensitive spot. He was lying on top of her now and she gasped as he placed his fingers between her legs.

"You smell of whisky and cigars," she said dreamily as she finally surrendered to him and reached up to his neck and placed her hands behind his head to bring him closer to her. She had always loved that mixed aroma - it had come to represent security and comfort. And Rhett.

"Do I?"

"Hmmmm…." she said. Her breath hitched as he moved her nightgown above her waist and then it hitched again as his hands gained full access to her breasts.

"God, you are so beautiful, Scarlett," he whispered into her hair as he finally removed the silk obstruction. "I hated being away from you, this evening."

"Then…why…were….you?" she replied softly, in between kissing him.

"Hmmmm?"

"Where were you?" she murmured.

"Does it matter?" he whispered as Scarlett's body tensed.

"Y…yes…"

"Let's not talk, honey."

Suddenly, something inside Scarlett snapped. In the old days, in the bad days of their marriage, whisky and cigars were frequently accompanied with other, more carnal, pursuits. She had thought about it earlier in the evening but dismissed it as her overactive imagination. But if his evening engagement had been so innocent, why couldn't he tell her?

Her body stiffened and he sensed it.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Abruptly, he stopped his ministrations, even though he was lying naked on top of her.

"What's wrong, Scarlett?" His sweet, love-making tone had vanished. Instead, his voice had a hard, accusatory edge to it.

"I want to know where you were, Rhett."

"Why?" His eyes flickered with something that she didn't quite understand but it frightened her.

She managed to slide away from underneath him. "Because it does, Rhett," she said forcefully. "I don't think it's that unusual for a wife to want to know where her husband has been."

He shook his head and then pushed himself up on the pillows. "You've never been curious before."

"Well, that's because I always thought you were with another woman, Rhett, and I didn't want that fact confirmed. It hurt enough just suspecting." She reached for her nightgown and holding the covers up around her, put it back on.

"So you think I have been with another woman?"

"Well…" She stopped. He had her now. That was exactly what she _did_ think. Why else would he have had to go out in the evening? And why was he smelling as though he had spent the last few hours in a saloon? Could she also smell a woman's scent on him? She sniffed but she wasn't sure. Had he been with Hélène? Suddenly, she remembered how he had changed when they had run into her, acted almost _awkward_. Was it because the wife was suddenly confronted with the mistress?

"Scarlett, answer me."

But she didn't. Instead she looked away and turned her body away from him so that she was facing the window and tried to drag the covers back around her.

"I'm tired, Rhett."

"No. You're not going to sleep just yet, Scarlett." He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to face him. "You think I have been with another woman?"

His eyes were alive and boring into her. He was wearing the same intense look he had worn during some of their worst arguments. When his anger had been stoked because she had hurt him. "Well…well…haven't you?" she stammered, and then she immediately wished that she could recant. And wished that she could just turn back the clock to fifteen minutes ago. Their relationship was so tenuous, held together by little more than a few strings and lots of hope. It could so easily be severed by wrongful assertions. Oh mother of God, why hadn't she kept quiet!

He stared at her for a few moments and then blinked, got out of the bed, put his robe on and went and sat in the large, cream chair that overlooked the garden and which afforded the best view of the river. Scarlett swallowed as she looked at him. Had she just ruined everything? Was this the end of their attempts at rebuilding their relationship? What had she done? Oh why oh why hadn't she trusted him!

With her heart racing, she pushed back the covers and went over and knelt by him, her silk gown clinging to her curves, the tie still undone so it gave him full visual access to her cleavage. Not that she realised or cared.

"Rhett. I'm…I'm sorry. It's just…" Her voice trailed off as he turned to look at her.

But he didn't say anything. The silence was as cutting as any of his worst barbs. A bilious feeling rose inside her and she felt her heart would jump through her skin. Could he hear it? Could he smell the sickness on her breath?

He dragged one of his large brown hands through his jet black hair. "This was what I was worried about," he finally said. "That…that…too much had happened. That we couldn't trust each other. That too much has been said which can't be unsaid. Too much has been done which can't be undone. On both our parts. _That's_ why I've been having this internal debate within myself. For months. Since April. Before then even. Can we make our relationship work, in a healthy way? Is too much broken?"

She nodded, bracing herself for another soliloquy, similar to the one he had given in October, which would culminate in him walking out on her again.

"I shouldn't have said anything, Rhett. I just wanted…well…" She swallowed the sob that was constricting her throat. "I wanted to spend the evening with you, Rhett. And I know that you have never cared much about fidelity. And I can't bear the idea of you being with another woman. Even before, I used to block the images out of my mind. And I should have realised then, that the reason I hated the idea of you being with another woman was because I wanted you. Because I loved you. I didn't want you to be with anyone else. And, I don't want you to be with anyone else now. Otherwise…this…thing…or whatever you want to call it…isn't going to work."

He looked down at her, as her silent tears trickled down her cheekbones and then pulled her up to his lap.

"Darling, you made yourself abundantly clear last night about your…condition." He paused briefly. "I don't _want_ any other woman. Do you not realise that? For the last thirteen years, the only time I have ever been with another woman was when I thought all was lost with you. But I have always been faithful when I thought you were mine. I was faithful for over two and half years. From when you accepted my marriage proposal to when you kicked me out of our bedroom, I never so much as looked at another woman, let alone touched one. Even when you were in the latter stages of your pregnancy with Bonnie and all I could do was hold you."

She remained mute.

"You do believe me, don't you?"

She looked into his eyes as though she was searching for her answer and then nodded slowly. "I just don't think we should have secrets, Rhett," she mumbled. "Not now, not after everything we have been through. Why couldn't you tell me where you were going? Why can't you now?"

He sighed and shook his head and then he raised his hands in defeat. "I was at the shipyard booking our passage to Europe. And then I went to a bar to persuade the gentlemen who had booked the best suite on the boat to allow me to buy his tickets off him. He needed some bribing. I needed to get him drunk."

Scarlett's emerald orbs widened. "To...to…Europe?" In her wildest imagination, she had never expected this explanation.

"Yes. Like a second honeymoon. We are meant to leave on Wednesday afternoon. That's if we both want to continue with this…reconciliation."

"Oh," Scarlett said. "I see."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want to carry on with this mad idea of yours that we can rebuild our marriage?"

Scarlett nodded slowly, feeling her eyes fill with tears once again. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so foolish and not trusted him?

"So now you've ruined the surprise." He pulled his wife closer to him, so that her head was nestling against his chest. "We've got to learn to trust each other, Scarlett, otherwise this…new start…is going to fail."

He brushed some hair out of her watery eyes as she looked at him.

"I always wanted to take you to London and Paris, darling. But then things happened and we never managed to go."

"Paris?" she repeated, unable to stop a faint smile from forming on her lips. She had read so much about Paris. The fashion, the food, the champagne, the Moulin Rouge.

"And before you worry about the children, we have a month. If we want it. I told my mother before she left and she said she would be happy to stay in Atlanta for the whole of September. For some strange reason, my mother likes you and thinks I…erm…chose well when it came to my wife." His voice had a hint of mockery but his eyes were kind.

He nodded. "Now darling, let's go back to bed. I didn't get much sleep either last night and I am rather tired."

Gently, he scooped her up into his arms, walked over to the bed and placed her on the mattress. And then he held her as she fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N So not the best chapter but I needed to get this posted and just move the story along. I think after everything Rhett and Scarlett have been through – Rhett unable to recognise that Scarlett loved him much earlier than she realised, Scarlett having to put up with his abundant unfaithfulness (how humiliating for her) – that there would be a lack of trust. And that is why, having got this far, I am not sure they can be together (well, sort of, kind of). Not because of what Scarlett has done (because she was always honest with Rhett) but because of what Rhett has done. But maybe that is too 21__st__ century of me! I always thought it was sad in GWTW when Scarlett feels humiliated that everyone in Atlanta knew that she wasn't sleeping with Rhett when Bonnie moves into his room._

_I have no idea if Jalna is still reading this but if you are – you kept on saying that they need to go and travel. I always wanted them to have a second honeymoon, doing some travelling and for Scarlett to get to Europe - especially Paris._

_Off on holiday on Friday for 2 weeks in South America so not sure when next update will be. Not sure how easy it is to get WiFi when you are several thousand feet above sea level._

_Next chapter we will finally find out about Helene_

_PS To address some comments. Sorry to those of you (Jillie Jo!) if you think Scarlett has lost her way a bit here. I just didn't want to paint a saccharine ending where everything is hunkydory. Because I don't think it would be. Rhett has changed - he is maturing too - he listens to his wife, he forces them to talk when she would rather not, he accepts some responsibility for how their marriage turned out, but in this chapter he is also being his usual self - thinking he can buy Scarlett (new clothes, new hats, a lovely honeymoon - did they really need the best suite on the boat?). Actually, whilst Scarlett loves clothes and fashion, I was trying to show her relative indifference to purchasing new clothes. Rhett doesn't know how to court Scarlett - he just buys her - because he has never had a proper relationship with a woman other than Scarlett (and their relationship is hardly normal) - and he also didn't see a particularly great relationship between his parents. I also think that Scarlett is still really quite young - whilst she was maturing at the end of GWTW she was still "young". But I take on board all your criticism and love your comments and I like when people tell me "Don't do that" or "I'm disappointed with that" as much as the more positive comments. So long as it is all done constructively!_


	42. Chapter 42

_Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. I was away for two weeks, not always with access to electricity. I have Chapter 43 and Chapter 44 both partly written. So hopefully (Lizzy…) it won't take me 3 weeks to update._

_Wiolka –I always appreciate your reviews. I google translate them. How on earth have you managed to stick with this story that isn't in your mother tongue? Do you google translate?_

_Ondine – thanks for the prod._

_Slightly maturish content in first section._

Chapter 42

In the six days before they were to due leave for Europe, Scarlett tried to be the wife she knew she could be and the wife she wanted to be. She bit back retorts, swallowed any criticism of her husband, dressed as she thought he would want her to, which included limiting her application of rouge and powder, and, on one occasion, even initiated lovemaking. Rhett, for his part, was more attentive than she had ever known him and barely left her side. And when he did have to slip out, for an hour or so, he always made sure to tell her exactly where he was going and when he would return.

The hours they spent together, they did so quietly, discovering new things about each other, learning to laugh again, and apart from visiting Scarlett's aunts and Uncle Carey once for supper, they managed to avoid much of Charleston's formality. And gradually, Scarlett began to relax around her husband and her worry that he might suddenly change his mind, suddenly decide that starting their marriage afresh was never going to work, dissipated.

In the long evenings, Scarlett would pepper Rhett with questions about the places they would visit in Europe, the food, the climate and then she would sit back, often curled up in his arms, as he told her where he intended to take her and regale her with tales of his own experiences in those far away lands.

But as she had time on her hands, time to think, she also began to worry about her lack of fluency in the French language.

"We're going to London too, Scarlett," Rhett had reminded her, after Scarlett had insisted that they spend all morning speaking in the foreign tongue. She had wanted to practice her pronunciation but everything her husband said, she made him repeat twice more, until even he had lost patience and decided that the only way to distract his increasingly distraught wife was to seduce her and take her back to bed.

Afterwards, they had lain in each other's arms as Scarlett tried out her newly learnt phrases.

"I can change our itinerary if you want, darling," Rhett had said, sighing as his wife mumbled in French. "We can spend more time in London if you would prefer. I had just thought that you would want to spend as much time as possible in Paris."

"I do, Rhett. But I don't want you to do _all _the talking and have me just sit there, looking like some dumb fool. And I want to understand what people are saying about me," she explained. "But I haven't so much as looked at French since I was fifteen and I can't remember any of my schooling!" Rhett put his cigar down on the bedside cabinet and leaned across his naked wife. He cupped her head in his hands and then kissed her.

"It'll come back to you. And if it doesn't, does it matter? This vacation is about us and I certainly don't want you flirting with the French men that will, no doubt, be flocking all around you."

"It matters to me, though, Rhett," she replied, feeling dispirited. "And it didn't come back to me this morning, when we spent _three hours_ talking in French. Oh, why didn't I pay more attention at school! If only I'd known I would actually go to France!"

"Perhaps because you had more important things to learn? I've often thought that you must have honed your Southern Belle persona at Fayetteville. And your flirtation technique. I can't believe your mother taught you. She seems to have been all together too serious. Now darling, please stop worrying and let's focus on other things…" He started kissing the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"I'm not even going to learn enough to get by on though, let alone engage in dinner conversation," she murmured sulkily, trying – and failing – to ignore the pleasure that her husband's attentions were driving through her.

"But you're only going to be speaking to me, Scarlett!"

"That may be but…well, I wouldn't mind, but you speak French so perfectly. It's just not fair."

"I _lived_ there for a few months, Scarlett. A long time ago. I _had _to learn it to get by."

"Even if you'd had only two weeks to learn it, you would be better at it than me!"

"Maybe I have more patience." She glared at him as he smiled mockingly at her. "Besides, you're better at other things than me," he said nuzzling her neck as the sun temporarily blinded her.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, away from her husband's persistent lips. "Like what? _What_ am I better at than you?"

"Lots of things. Looking beautiful for one."

"That's not useful, Rhett!"

"Oh it is, darling. Believe me."

"But not in the same way!" She fell onto her back and sighed. Maybe her husband _was _right. Maybe she didn't have the patience to learn a new language.

He leaned over her, tracing his fingers over her lips, over her long, elegant neck, down towards her breasts. "I'm not sure there is _anything_ I am better at than you," she continued.

"You play the piano better than me," he offered.

"I'm not sure I've ever heard you play," she scoffed.

"That's because I am lousy." She glanced across at him, wondering whether he was just _saying_ that to make her feel better or whether he was telling the truth.

Seeing her disbelief, he continued. "I'm not sure I would have had the…skill…to make Kennedys the success it is. And…" He began to kiss her again, his arms pulling her closer to him, swallowing the tiny gap between them. He rolled on top of her and gently parted her legs. She hadn't even put on her nightgown, it was four o'clock in the afternoon, and he wanted to make love to her again?

"Rhett," she murmured, trying in vain to articulate a protest but not really wanting to. She could stay in bed with her husband all day when it made her feel this good, she thought dreamily. "And…and what?"

He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. "And you're much better than me at not holding grudges."

"Not holding grudges? How is that a skill?"

"Maybe not a skill but it's an attribute. Take Mrs Merriwether for example. That woman has gossiped about you for years, snubbed you, been downright rude to you at times and yet you risked your _life _to save her and now you have given over our kitchen so that she won't lose business. I'm not sure I know anyone else who would have done that in the circumstances." She smiled at his use of the word _our_. Yes, it was _their_ kitchen, it was _their_ house, _their _home.

"Isn't that what being Southern is all about? Any of the Old Guard would have done it if they had been able to. I just had the means."

"No. I don't believe anyone else would have, Scarlett. They don't easily forget. But you do. Or rather, you don't let the bitterness of previous bad behaviour on their part prevent you from doing a good deed. We could all learn a lesson from you. Me included. God knows, I've held on to too many grudges."

Scarlett glanced up at him, basking in his praise.

He continued. "And…and you're braver than me. I've told you that before. You were willing to take a risk on me – on us – when I wasn't prepared to. I thought my emotional energy was all spent but you managed to make me rethink, re-evaluate. And now we're here…" He started kissing her again, sending small shivers through her body. "…and, despite all my reservations, _here_ isn't such a bad place to be."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On their penultimate day in Charleston, Rhett had to go into town to attend to some last minute business and, although he asked Scarlett to accompany him, the intense heat from the previous couple of days had made her drowsy and she elected to stay behind.

She ate a light dinner and then wandered into the Butler library to select a couple of books. She had decided that this time, in this new relationship, she wouldn't neglect her husband like she had in the past. And that meant trying to share some of his interests, including reading. She had always hated how Rhett would talk in riddles, littering his conversation with allegories that went right over her head. She needed to do something about that. And reading some of the books in his library would be a start.

She scanned the shelves and, remembering his long ago suggestion that she read Madame Bovary ("_You'll find some parallels with your own life, my pet, but please avoid the arsenic_ "), pulled it out from the shelf. She sat down by the open window but after failing to get past the first thirty pages, she put it back and selected Vanity Fair. After struggling with the book for an hour or so, even the scheming Becky Sharp had failed to capture her interest, and when she found her eyelids getting heavy, she put the book down and decided to take a short nap.

Scarlett climbed the stairs slowly, the stillness of the house only broken by the click clack of her heels on the wooden floors. She smiled to herself as she thought that, in just over twenty four hours, she and Rhett would be taking a vacation together – their first in seven years of marriage, if she discounted their honeymoon - and to Europe no less! She had always envied him his travels, she had always wished that she could travel with him, had always wondered if they were forced to travel together that they might somehow have found a way back into sharing the marital bed. But for some reason, he had never suggested it and from the manner he always used in announcing his trips – and by always taking them at short notice, which made it impossible for her to make arrangements for the children and her businesses, she had always assumed he hadn't wanted her to accompany her. It had never dawned on her that it might have been because he was afraid of _her_ saying _no_, that he didn't ask her. That _he _had always assumed she wouldn't have wanted to leave her mills or her store. And had known that she wouldn't have wanted to be away from Ashley for too long.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she glanced at the clock. It was three o'clock. She would be able to nap for two hours or so and be up in plenty of time to pretty herself for supper. And she wouldn't be disturbed by noise from the servants either – they were either sleeping themselves or tending to the flower beds in the gardens.

She kicked off her slippers that were pinching her heat swollen feet, picked them up and then shuffled along the corridor barefoot, relishing the feel of the cool oak on the pads of her toes.

She sloped past what was still nominally Rhett's bedroom, towards the ivory bedroom but then she abruptly stopped. Since the night that he had first shared her bed, he had only ventured into his own room to get dressed and to bathe. He had never invited her in, or given her cause to spend any time in the room and now she was curious.

She turned around slowly and retraced her steps, hovering outside the closed door. It was one of the few rooms in the house that she hadn't even peeked in. How strange that was! For surely a bedroom told much about the person who slept in it – and she wanted, _needed_, to better understand her husband.

Although she knew that she was alone in the house, she looked over both her shoulders and then, flinching as it creaked, she pushed the handle down, opened the door and tiptoed in.

The first thing that struck Scarlett was how masculine the room was. There was no lace, there were no frills, no mother of pearl inlays in the furniture, no flowers. Instead, there was dark, mahogany furniture and a large, four poster bed with chocolate and aubergine throws and cushions on it, on top of starched white linen. The second thing that struck her was how _unlived_ in the bedroom appeared. To an outsider, Rhett could have been a guest, staying for a couple of days. It certainly did not look like the room of someone who had been inhabiting it, on and off, for the last ten months or so.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on it, stretching out to run her fingers along one of the velvety, cashmere throws that had been folded back over the end of the bed. Was this how her husband would choose to furnish a bedroom, if he hadn't lived with her, if he hadn't had to accommodate her tastes, or any female's tastes? She scanned the room again. There was little furniture in it – only a chest of drawers, two bedside tables and a large desk - but what there was, was beautiful and exquisitely carved.

She got up from the bed, smoothing away the wrinkles she had made, and then walked over to the heavy door that hung on the back wall. She opened it, stepped inside the space and looked around. There was row upon row of suits, shirts, waistcoats, cravats, all neatly hung or folded, all of the best cottons, the best silks, the best linens. All unblemished. She walked further in. At the far end, there were dozens of shoes and boots, alternating between black and brown, every single pair shined until one could see one's reflection in them. No smears, no finger prints. Scarlett smiled wryly. Her husband was still as fastidious about his appearance as he had always been.

She pivoted round, walked out and closed the door gently behind her. Then, she padded over to the desk, on top of which lay a large, leather writing pad, blotter and ink pot and next to it, a small pile of virgin envelopes and different size writing papers. She opened the top left hand drawer which revealed neatly stacked invoices and telegrams. She picked up the telegrams to see if any of them were about her, but they were impersonal, relating to various business matters which she hadn't heard of and didn't understand. That was another thing she wanted to change, she thought. She wanted to know more about what her husband actually did in his business dealings. She had a vague idea but she had no real clue as to what he owned, what he did during the day, how he continued to make money.

She shut the left hand drawer and opened the middle drawer. Immediately, from the way the papers were tied, she sensed she had stumbled upon more interesting correspondence.

There were two bundles of letters, tied together with red ribbons, which straddled a letter from a child. She picked the singular letter up, recognising Ella's childish scrawl and read it. It was a short letter, five lines long, telling him simply that she missed him, that she loved him and asking him if he could come home for her birthday when she would be eight years old. He hadn't of course. Her birthday in May had passed off uneventfully but Scarlett wondered how Ella had got the Wycliffe House address. Had Rhett given her children the address when he had stayed in Atlanta in April? Or had they bribed Pork or Mammy to reveal it?

She replaced Ella's letter and then, trying to memorise how the ribbons had been folded so she could retie them later, she untied the smaller stack of correspondence. Each letter was from her sister-in-law Rosemary and dated within the last two months and all from exotic locations in Europe that she had neither heard of nor could pronounce. She scanned the letters briefly, but they were mundane, merely chronicling what Rosemary had seen, where she had been and apart from asking after Wade and Ella a couple of times, there was nothing personal in them.

She put Rosemary's missives aside and picked up the second pile, slipping out the letters from the ribbon and being careful to keep them in order. This time, the letters were still in their envelopes – all addressed to R.K. Butler or Captain R.K. Butler. She flicked through them and saw her own letter – the one she had written to him at the beginning of December, asking if he could find it in his heart to come back for a week at Christmas. It had been the only letter she had written to him after he had gone – in fact, it had been the only letter she had ever written to him - and she remembered how she had started and ripped up four attempts before she was happy with the tone. It was warm and friendly, mostly about the children and she had somehow managed to resist any declarations of love, even though she had felt her heart breaking as she had penned it. After she had sent it, she had waited and waited, every day badgering poor Pork to go to the telegram office and the postal office but she never did receive a reply and as the days became weeks, she wondered if perhaps she had got the address wrong, or perhaps he had played one last nasty trick on her and had deliberately given her a non-existent address to write to. Of course, now she realised that there had been a much more innocent explanation for his lack of response - he had been in Europe in December and January with Miss Eleanor – and by the time he would have received it, Christmas would have been long forgotten.

She put her envelope back in the stack and continued thumbing through the pile, not entirely sure what she was expecting to find. Perhaps a letter from Maybelle or Uncle Henry? And then she went back to the beginning of the pile and flicked through them again and there, juxtaposed against her own letter, was an envelope that she had missed on her first perusal, in handwriting that she didn't recognise but from the extravagant calligraphy, she knew was from a woman.

She pulled the envelope out, removed the two pages from its paper sheath and tentatively unfolded it.

_Darling Rhett_ it began.

She stopped abruptly. _Darling_ Rhett? Who used that endearment – who had a _right_ to use that endearment – other than her and his mother?

Her hands began to shake as she turned over to the second page to see who had sent it but, even before she saw the elegant signature, she knew who it was from. _Hélène_.

She scanned its contents quickly, to see if she had stumbled across a love letter but she couldn't concentrate and her eyes wouldn't focus. So she pulled out the large, leather chair from under the desk and sat down. Then, she tried to read the letter again.

_How wonderful to see you again after all these years, even if the circumstances were so tragic._

Tragic? She swallowed as her mouth went dry. Was that an allusion to Bonnie's death? Had Rhett left her in October and sought out the comfort of an old lover? Was that why he had been in such a hurry to leave her, not even waiting until the end of Melly's wake, because he had already lined up an old lover to take comfort from?

She read on, her heart beating faster and faster. _I hadn't realised the death of a child could be so painful and I thank God that we had each other to get through it. _Scarlett stopped again and blinked away some tears. What the hell did this woman know about the death of a child? How could she even begin to comfort her husband? How could she understand the searing pain, the absolute emptiness, the feeling that nothing else mattered?

She skipped a couple of lines and onto the next paragraph.

_Our time together, especially the nights we spent together, was very precious to me and I feel the urge to see you again. You haven't changed – you're still the same rogue I knew all those years ago, even if marriage and children have mellowed you somewhat. _

_You made me think of getting away for a while. Of leaving Paris for a few months. And by some miracle, I have managed to persuade the benefactors of my ballet company to take my production of La Sylphide to America. Maybe I will even end up in Charleston._

She turned over to the last page again, impatient to see how it had been signed off. _With fondest love and mille bisous_.

She glanced back to the date of the letter. The twentieth of February. Rhett had probably been back in the South by then when he received this. He must have visited Hélène when he went to Paris with his mother. Had Miss Eleanor condoned the relationship?

She put the letter down. It was making her feel sick and she felt sure that, had she been standing, she would have fainted. What did this mean? She remembered how uncomfortable Rhett had been when they had met Hélène in the street. Had Rhett been sharing that woman's bed since he had left her in October? She had discounted the conversation of the women in the train as idle gossip – because she didn't want to believe it, but now…now…But Miss Eleanor! Miss Eleanor wouldn't have spoken of Hélène if she had been a former lover of her son's. Surely not. She had spoken about her so casually too. And hadn't she been some sort of family friend? No, there must be a more innocent explanation about the letter. Perhaps all French women wrote to married men using such excessive expressions. Perhaps all men _were_ darlings to French women.

She replaced the letter in the pile, pushed the letters back in the ribbons and then slid them back into the drawer. She shouldn't have been prying. She would hate it if she ever thought that Rhett looked at her letters – not that there was ever anything interesting in them. She tossed her head and stood up.

But then she felt a surge of anger. She was being ridiculous! No woman other than a lover, a mother or a wife would preface a letter with _darling._ No woman other than a lover, mother or wife would refer to time spent together as _precious. _No woman other than a wife or lover would sign off a letter with love and a thousand kisses – in fact, _she _wouldn't even have signed off a letter to her husband like that. There wasn't any explanation other than that Hélène was his lover, or certainly had been and recently too. She would confront him! She would call him out! She had sensed that there was something between them and this was the proof! If it was so innocent, why had he kept the letter? Why had he not told her who she was? Because she was obviously _somebody_. Why had he jumped at the mention of her name the other morning, when Miss Eleanor and she were taking breakfast? And then another thought struck her. Was Hélène the reason he had chosen Paris for their honeymoon?

All feelings of sleepiness abruptly disappeared. She would kill him if he had been having an affair with that woman! She opened the drawer again, fumbled amongst the ribbons and withdrew the offending envelope. Then she got up, walked out of the room and down the corridor to her own room, all the while, trying not to screw up and burn the evidence of his infidelity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was lying on their bed, waiting for him to return. He had promised that he would be home by five o'clock but it was creeping towards six o'clock and all she could hear were the servants preparing the evening meal in the kitchen.

Finally, she heard a horse trot round to the back of the house and Clarence greet her husband. Then she heard the murmurings of soft voices before she finally heard his footsteps. Up the staircase, two at a time, along the corridor, not even stopping outside his bedroom and then finally to her bedroom. To what had become _their _bedroom.

He opened the door without knocking.

"Sorry darling. I got held up," he said quickly, slightly out of breath. "Last minute issues for tomorrow but they're all…" He stopped abruptly letting his unfinished sentence hang in mid-air and he stared at his wife, her mien like some ice maiden, ready to melt into fire. The only colour in her countenance was her red-rimmed eyes.

Scarlett sat up on the bed and then asked calmly, trying to keep her hysteria at bay, trying to push away all the unwelcome and hurtful thoughts, trying not to cry in front of him, "Who is she?"

"Sorry honey, you've lost me," he said, his brow furrowing. Oh! How typical of her husband to disarm her with sweet talking and pretend confusion. "Who's who?" he continued.

She swung her legs round and stood up by the bed, keeping her distance from him. Then she slowly removed the letter from her pocket and began to read it.

"_Darling Rhett. How wonderful to see you again, even if the circumstances were so tragic._"

"Where did you get that letter?" he interrupted quietly but firmly, his visage suddenly draining of all colour.

"It doesn't matter where I got it, Rhett," Scarlett snapped back. She felt the tension from her head move to her shoulders as she monitored his reaction closely, looking for some sign from him as to who Hélène really was. But other than irritation, she couldn't detect any emotion. He had affixed his nonchalant mask.

"So, you've taken to snooping around in my bedroom," he replied blandly.

"I didn't think there was a _my _bedroom and _your _bedroom." She glared at him, no longer attempting to hide her anger and saw him swallow hard a couple of times. Was he nervous?

"Scarlett, it's just a letter. From…an…old…friend."

Scarlett snorted in derision. So that was how he was going to try and brush off the letter! "I see. So do old _friends_ address each other as _darling? _Or do you call all your lovers, friends?"

"No…"

"Well, thank God I found out what relationships you have with your _friends_, Rhett, before we went to Europe." She cast her tear stung eyes back down to the letter. "_I hadn't realised the death of a child could be so painful…"_ A tear fell onto the letter and smudged the ink.

"Stop it Scarlett," Rhett ordered and strode over to where she was standing. "Give it to me, please." He held out his hand.

"Stop it?" Scarlett murmured. "Stop it?" Her voice increased in volume. "Who the hell do you think you are you to tell me to _stop it_?" She put the letter behind her back, out of his reach.

"It's nothing Scarlett. Just an innocent letter."

"Innocent? If your relationship with Hélène is so innocent, then why haven't you told me about her, properly introduced me to her? Why did you wince when your mother brought her up in conversation? Why were you so tense when we met her on the street? I saw the way she looked at you! You've been sharing her bed!"

He was silent for a while, as if he was contemplating what to say that might sound plausible. Then he began. "Scarlett, it's-"

"Your words mean nothing to me! You're full of lies. You've spent so long lying to me, that you can't even remember how to tell the truth!" Her eyes were blazing. "You win, Rhett! You can have your precious _Hélène_." She paced over to the door and then her blurred eyes caught a glimpse of her simple gold wedding band. She tugged at it but it didn't slip off easily. She tugged at it again and this time she was successful. Then, she threw it at her husband. It landed at his feet.

"It's over, Rhett," and she opened the door. "We're over. There is nothing-"

"If you walk out of that door, Scarlett, our marriage really _is_ over," he shouted. Something in his tone made her stop, brought her back to her senses. Like a verbal smack.

"But isn't that what you really want?" she screamed at him.

"No. I-" He looked at her with a frightening intensity. "Damn you, Scarlett, if you walk out of this room now then you are walking out of this marriage-"

"Then, who is she Rhett?" Her voice shook with anger, as she vacillated, standing on the threshold of the room. "Who is Hélène? I want to know. I _have _to know."

Through her watery vision, she saw him move closer towards her. His mouth twitched – as though he was about to say something – but he remained mute. All she could hear was his heavy breathing

He grabbed hold of her.

"Get your filthy hands off me, Rhett!" Scarlett cried. "Who…is...she? Another former lover of yours? Another of your whores? How many of your other lovers am I going to have to put up with? How many of your other lovers am I going to have to share you with? Because I don't share. Not now-"

"Scarlett. Please…"

"Who is she?" Scarlett screamed.

He let out a heavy sigh and then dropped her hands and looked steadily into her raging emerald eyes. "Hélène Malet was the mother of my ward."

_A/N Some of this doesn't flow properly. But I wanted to post. Any suggestions of what to cut, change, amend? I know this might be one argument too far between them – but I hold on to the view that any marriage that had broken down to such an extent as the Butler marriage had is going to take a lot of time to mend. And I do think in this situation there is going to be mistrust, some latent anger, however much they love each other and need to be together. And Rhett does have something to hide here. Still hoping to end on Chapter 47 or 48._

_Oh – Catherine Scarlett – if you ever read this chapter, please let me know why in Chapter 33 you thought that Scarlett and Rhett's relations are thin and unbelievable. I can't PM you as you don't have that activated but I'd genuinely be interested to know._

_Charmain - don't worry about the bad, unconstructive reviews. I don't let them bother me. They actually make me laugh a bit. You are kind to message me via review though._


	43. Chapter 43

_I didn't feel that this chapter was quite right somehow. So I have slightly tweaked it. Oh and thank you C122 for your helpful criticism. Although I was trying to be ironic - the conversation at the end of the chapter is Scarlett being very hypocritical. And she might well have done what Helene did if she had been pushed into Helene's situation (which was what I was trying to convey - but obviously failed!) But I do think she would never have abandoned her children._

_Lawdy – thank you for using your fountain of knowledge and expert skills in research in pointing me to the various New Orleans asylums in the nineteenth century._

Chapter 43

They sat by the window, on opposite chairs, as Rhett told Scarlett the story.

"Ever since my father told me I was no longer welcome at his house, I decided I didn't need a home and drifted. From county to county, from city to city. From country to country. Gradually honing my talents as a poker player and gradually building up some money. But even a nomad needs roots occasionally, and, as I had always been fond of my uncle, Stephen, and as I knew it would rile my father if gossip ever reached him that I was spending time with him and in New Orleans of all places, I made sure to visit New Orleans once or twice a year – sometimes more frequently - and stay with Stephen. It was the antithesis of everything that my father had ever stood for. The decadence, the hedonism, the liquor, the saloons, the gambling, the bars. And the women. I revelled in it.

"My uncle had been living there ever since my father had kicked him out of the house in the summer of 1840. Stephen was…fun…A character. And he made his money by gambling – usually poker. He would have been a great player, if he had known when to stop….

"We made quite a pair when we went out. People often mistook us for twins – not realising that we were a generation apart. I certainly looked more like him than I did my own father.

"One day, we were stumbling back to Stephen's house, rather worse for wear from drink, when a beautiful, dark haired woman walked past us.

"She had poise…stature…even though she was slight and not particularly tall. It was the way she carried herself. She had an elegance that was quite out of place in New Orleans and she was on her own – which was unusual in those days. Still is, I suppose." He paused and shifted in the chair. He looked wistful but there was sadness, too, in his countenance. Scarlett wanted to reach out and touch him but something held her back, perhaps the fear that her touch might stop him speaking. So instead, she leaned forward and whispered.

"And this…woman…this was Hélène?"

Rhett nodded slowly, his eyes flickering as he scanned his wife's face for her reaction.

"Stephen ran after her and started talking to her. She was actually American – Southern - by birth. She had been born in Savannah to parents that, it turned out, had known my paternal grandparents, Stephen's parents. Stephen remembered the family name of Malet – he remembered Hélène's father. They had visited Charleston a couple of times before they had moved to Europe.

"When she realised Stephen knew her parents, she tried to run away. But even in his inebriated state he could run faster than she could. He caught up with her, whilst I remained in the background just watching. I remember how, as soon as he placed a hand on her arm, she started crying. In the middle of the street, she just started sobbing. Stephen coaxed her towards a discrete side street and there she told him her whole, sorry story. How she had run away from home to be with a lover. How her mother had died from the shock of it all. How her lover had got sick and died on the boat over. And how she was now on the other side of the world, with nothing except the clothes on her back, what was in her travelling bag and twenty dollars. And she couldn't go back to Paris for the shame she had already brought on her family.

"I could tell immediately that Stephen was attracted to Hélène and so, I found myself accompanying the two of them to a little hotel, away from the main thoroughfares. I paid for her accommodation for a week – Stephen had no money - and we left her there, although I soon discovered that every day, Stephen was meeting her for dinner and supper. Then, on the Friday, I came back to my uncle's house, earlier than I was expected back and she was there. Dressed in one of my uncle's old dressing gowns. It was rather obvious what had transpired between the two of them.

"That weekend, she moved in to our little house and into my uncle's bedroom. It wasn't the most…appropriate action for Hélène to take….to move in with my uncle and me…. But I guess she had no choice…and I had rather forced her hand by refusing to continue paying her hotel bills."

He looked up at his wife who had suddenly become very still. A faint blush had risen to her cheeks.

"Scarlett, you have to underst-"

"Oh I understand, Rhett. I was just thinking of my own situation. When I couldn't pay the taxes on Tara and I came to you. I would have ended up in the same situation as she was in – selling my body to you for a roof over my head."

He stared at her, contemplating her words and then he shrugged. "Well, anyway, I rather liked the idea of scandalising my father if he found out about it and Hélène was pleasant to be around. She had a carefree nature, a good spirit and she managed to cajole my uncle out of his early morning grumpiness brought on by his hangovers. And I've always enjoyed female company.

"For three months, we all lived rather companionably. My uncle's housekeeper was rather…liberal…as were most of my uncle's friends. And it was nice to have a female opinion on things. Many a night, we would stay up late, discussing literature, or politics or history, slavery. The possibility of war. She was educated, well-read although I often wondered whether she really held the views she purported to hold, or whether she just wanted to provoke an argument with my uncle. His temper always amused her.

"One weekend, my uncle had to go to Baton Rouge for some business, probably a poker tournament or something. I don't remember. Well, Hélène stayed behind and I happened to be in town, too. We went out to the local saloon to eat supper and then played cards together, getting drunker and drunker as the night progressed. I remember stumbling back to the house, carrying her, because her boots were pinching her feet and…well, one thing, led to another, and…she shared my bed that night." He paused and shook his head and then glanced back to his wife, whose pallor had gone ghostly. "It was a momentary lapse of judgment, Scarlett, on both our parts. The next day we carried on as if nothing had happened and we never breathed a word about it to each other again. I am not sure my uncle ever found out. Certainly I never told him and I don't think Hélène did either.

"Then, about six weeks later, my uncle met me in a bar – I had just returned from a trip to Nassau - and he told me Hélène was pregnant. I remember feeling sick as he prattled on about how he would probably marry her, how he had been thinking about marrying her anyway - with or without the baby - which I'm not sure was true. I was barely listening. Somehow, I managed to swallow the whisky in front of me and we went home and when I saw Hélène that evening, she was very quiet. She was sitting next to my uncle but she spent most of the time looking at me. You see-,"

"The child was yours?" interrupted Scarlett. "She was carrying _your _child?" Her voice came out strangled, half choked. She swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat. "You…you…have a child with…with…Hélène?"

She felt the hot sting of tears on her lashes and she turned away. Never in a million years had she expected this confession! Hélène wasn't just an old lover! Oh no! She was also the mother of her husband's child! Perhaps, perhaps she could have coped with the idea that there had been _something_ between the two of them many years ago, before he had known her. But this! Oh dear God! A _child_! A…how had he described it? A _momentary lapse of judgment_? He talked of having felt sick! It was nothing to how she was suddenly feeling. Her hands had gone all clammy and she needed some air. She didn't want to hear any more. She _couldn't_ hear any more. She went to stand up but she felt dizzy. She put her hands to her face and felt her body sway with nausea. Oh this couldn't be happening to her! Oh mother of God. Just when they had been making progress, he had to go and drop this revelation.

She felt his hand on her arm but she kept her face covered. "Scarlett, darling, please hear me out. Please let me finish," and then he got up from his chair and moved towards her, swept her up in his arms and sat down again, placing her in his lap. She felt too weak to resist. The emotion of the last few hours had caught up with her.

"So you have another child? Bonnie wasn't your only child?" she said as he began to stroke her hair.

He took a deep breath in and shook his head. "I don't know, Scarlett," he said simply. "I certainly treated him _like _a son, lovedhim like a son. Hélène never _said_ he was my child. And she could have done. God, there were plenty of opportunities to say it, to laud it over me. But she never did. To all intents and purposes, he was Stephen's child. But perhaps she didn't know herself. It's not as if there is a test you can take to determine paternity."

"So anyway, I had decided to leave New Orleans and stay away until after the baby was born. But about a week after my uncle found out about her pregnancy, he got sick. Really sick - influenza or some variant - and a week after that he was dead. So Hélène was left pregnant, and almost a widow but not quite. He had left her with nothing. Not even his name. There wasn't even anything of my uncle's estate that could be given to her because he had no money, he owned no property, and the only horse he owned was old and decrepit and was unlikely to last even a year.

"She was twenty-two and she felt her life was ruined. She became very depressed. For weeks, she hardly got up in the mornings and if she did, she just moped around in her wrapper, didn't even bother getting dressed. Her spark had died and she was homesick for France, which didn't help, and she wanted to go back to dancing. And then, one morning, she announced that she had found out that she didn't have to have the baby and asked me for some money.

"We had the most almighty row and in the end, we agreed that she would have the child but I would support it and the child would become my ward.

"So, she had the baby and then six months later, she returned to France. We placed the child in the care of Saint Vincent's Infant Asylum, on Magazine Street, with me as the guardian. It was a…neat…asylum. A _commodious brick edifice. _I think that was how it was described. It wasn't unpleasant and it was clean and the women that ran it didn't seem out of a Dickens novel." Scarlett looked blankly at him. "But when I found myself back in New Orleans nine months later, it was obvious the child wasn't happy. He was crying all the time. And I began to fret that perhaps he wasn't being fed enough or his diapers weren't changed often enough. It wasn't as if I could check up on him. Without consulting Hélène, I sought out a young widow, with one child of her own, to care for the child and I paid her handsomely. And she looked after him, and well too, and whenever I returned from my travels, he seemed happy. When he was six, I sent him to Bellegrove Institute, a boarding school.

"Hélène didn't see the child again until he was eight – after the War had finished. By then, she was a successful dancer, had Paris at her feet and she managed to slip away from France for a couple of months. It was the first time I had seen her since she had left New Orleans, although I had been writing to her for years – initially to check up on her own well-being but then to tell her how her son was getting on. It was a strange correspondence. She barely wrote back and if she did, her letters were short. I suppose it was her way of coping with what she had done." He broke off suddenly and reached into his pocket for a cigar. He lit it and inhaled a few times before allowing the rings of smoke to waft over Scarlett's hair.

Scarlett sat motionless, her head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart and trying to digest all the information and remembering the only other time he had mentioned his ward - one of the few occasions in her life when he had properly let his guard down around her. She had become jealous because she had thought his frequent visits back to New Orleans were because of a sweetheart - although she had refused to recognise the emotion at the time. And then just as swiftly as the shutters had come down, the shutters had gone back up – and he had terminated the conversation and asked her not to repeat its content to anyone else. She had resolved to ask him about his ward, after they had married but the opportunity had never arisen, and then after their marriage had begun to deteriorate, she had resolved not to ask him for fear of giving him satisfaction that she was curious about his life.

"I always wondered," she finally said, feeling numb. "I mean, who the boy was. Why he was your ward. How you – of all people – had come to have a ward."

"Me – of all people?"

"Well, it's not exactly something that one would normally expect of a rogue, Rhett." He didn't say anything and even though she wasn't looking at him, she felt his eyes on her. "I remember some gossip I heard. About Belle Watling having a child and the Old Cats suggesting that it might be your child. Her son lives in New Orleans doesn't he?"

"Yes," he replied slowly. "Yes he does. And I paid for his education. Belle is a good mother, better than Hélène was. She tries to visit her son – has _always_ visited her son - at least once every three months or so. He's sixteen now and about to start an apprenticeship at a tailors. In New Orleans."

"But Belle's son…he's not yours?" she asked hesitantly.

"Good Lord, no! I met her on the day Hélène and I placed her son in the asylum. Belle was putting her own son in there but she intended to give him up for adoption. She couldn't stop crying. So I…helped her out…."

"What do you mean, you helped her out?"

"Well, unlike Hélène, she wanted to keep her child. So I made it possible. She had become pregnant by one of her clients – of course, the scoundrel didn't want to know - so I gave her some money and told her that she could move in to my uncle's house for the remainder of the tenancy. Another eighteen months or so. I had no use for it and it would only stand empty. There was another woman she worked with, who said that she would look after the child whilst Belle worked. And so that's how Belle got by. And when the child was two years old, she decided that the child would be better served if he didn't grow up in the household of a whore and so she placed him in another asylum and she moved to Atlanta. Her son went to the same school as my ward. I paid for both their educations."

There was another pause as Scarlett considered his answer. Then she asked,

"So how many other children _might _you have, Rhett?"

He shook his head and she saw him swallow. "None. So far as I am aware. It was just one of those things that happened. I wasn't careful but neither was my uncle and neither was Hélène. Call it the folly of youth."

Scarlett nodded slowly. This child – if he was born three years before he met her, if he was roughly the same age as Belle's son, he must also be about sixteen now.

"So what is his name Rhett? Is he still in New Orleans?"

"His name was James. And he's-" He stopped suddenly and a pained expression washed over his face.

And then she suddenly realised. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Was. Thought. Might have been. Treated. Loved. All past tenses.

"He's dead isn't he?"

Rhett flicked his eyes up and met her emerald gaze. He nodded slowly. "He died in a bar fight ten days before Miss Melly. And I buried him whilst you were in Marietta."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, they had managed to go down to supper, Scarlett feeling dazed and confused. Rhett had held onto her tightly as they had walked down the staircase and then he had closed the door whilst they had eaten. Scarlett barely touched the beef that had been specially cooked for them.

She had sat, in an almost numb-like state, as Rhett had told her how James had got into some gambling debts, how he had decided to cheat his way out of the money he owed, rather than ask Rhett for the money to pay it off, how he had been caught out by someone he should never have crossed, how the man had beaten him to death with bare hands in a murky saloon which the sheriff never frequented. "He had the Butler stubbornness, Scarlett," Rhett had offered as Scarlett had shaken her head in disbelief at the waste of such a young life.

"He can't have been little more than a child," she had said softly, thinking of her own son who was rapidly racing towards manhood.

"He _was_ a child. He was only sixteen, Scarlett. And if I had had more energy, if I had been more myself, I would have shot the man who had struck the fatal blow."

He told her how he had received a telegram from the old widow that had looked after James all those years ago and how he had managed to stay sober enough to slip away to New Orleans on the overnight train and stay less than twelve hours – enough time to pay the undertaker and to bury the boy. It had only been him and the widow, Belle's son and three passers-by who had attended the funeral. "That's what bastardisation does to you. It robs you of friends too," he had pronounced, reading the unasked question that was on Scarlett's lips. "I felt angry that he had had the life he had had. My money couldn't give him respectability, however much I had tried. Even in New Orleans."

And then he had told her about writing to Hélène to break the news to her.

"You saw her again, though? When you went to Paris?" They had retired up to their bedroom and Rhett was sitting behind his wife, brushing her hair.

He caught her eyes in the mirror.

"Scarlett, you don't need to know everything."

"Yes I do, Rhett. I want to be sure that I know the person I am married to. Heaven knows, I didn't know you for the first six years of our marriage."

He looked at her reflection and shook his head. "I have always wished I didn't have the mental images of you and Charles together, of you and Frank, of you and Ashley…"

"I want to know, Rhett," she said with a steely inflection.

He put the brush down on the vanity counter, stood up and moved to the bed. He sat down. "I met her in Paris when I was there with my mother over Christmas. We spent an afternoon together. It was…good to see her…therapeutic. We remembered the good things about James. His sense of fun, the pranks he would get up to, his cockiness, his intelligence. We didn't talk of the bitterness he had always felt about being abandoned by his mother. About being born out of wedlock. We didn't talk of the awful argument he had had with Hélène the last time she had seen him, about six months before his death. When he had accused her of giving her this stigma that he would never be able to wash away. And then I had gone back to my hotel and took my mother out to a concert. I had no intention of seeing her again.

"But the next day, she wrote to me at the hotel I was staying at, telling me how she had enjoyed our time together and inviting me for supper the following night. My mother was busy seeing an old friend or something – I can't remember – and so I went. And I didn't leave until the next morning." Scarlett's eyes swivelled up to meet his own, to check that she hadn't missed his meaning.

"You mean…you mean…" she had to be sure. "You shared her bed?"

He nodded.

"Oh." She got up from the vanity stool and moved towards him. "But it was just the once?"

He emitted a heavy sigh. "Scarlett, why do you have to know?"

She swallowed, ignoring the pain that was beginning to rack her whole body. "So it was more than once?"

"It might have been more than once. I can't remember."

"It _might_ have been? How many times Rhett?"

"Two or three more times."

"Two more times, Rhett, or three more times?"

"Three," he said quietly.

"And since she's been in Charleston?"

"Not once, Scarlett," he said. "I think she might have…wanted…something to happen…but… it happened in Paris because of our shared grief."

"Like it just _happened_ to us in April? On Bonnie's birthday?"

"No, Scarlett. With us it was different. It's _always_ been different with you. Maybe that's why I can never leave you. In April, I was confused. And scared. Because I thought in April that you might have been the only one to save me from myself and I didn't want you to have that power over me. And I ran away. Or rather, when we had that conversation the night of our dinner with Maybelle and René, I didn't try and stop you…evicting… me from our house. With Hélène, there has never been any love between us. Friendship, yes, occasional…er…lust…but not love. Not love in the true sense."

Scarlett smirked. "Maybe there was no love on your part, Rhett. But on hers? I'm not so sure. I saw the way she looked at you."

Rhett shrugged. "There's only one woman, Scarlett that I have ever loved."

"But what of the letter, Rhett? I don't know many women… in fact, I don't know _any_ woman, who would call someone else's husband _darling_?"

"She started writing to me, Scarlett after I left Paris. What was I meant to do? And I felt strangely guilty. Guilty of how I had contributed to her grief and guilty that I had slept with her when she was vulnerable. Her choice of words escalated during the course of our correspondence, it became more extravagant, more flowery. She's always been one for slight melodrama. And she thought I was a free man. Hell, I thought I was a free man." He stared into his wife's eyes, trying to convey his sincerity. "You mustn't judge her too harshly, darling. She had no one. She was lonely."

"I'm not judging her, Rhett. I'm trying to understand." She pondered his words. "So, you haven't been with her since December?"

He shook his head.

"Good," she said.

She tossed her hair back and tied it loosely in a ribbon that was on her wrist and then she walked away from her husband, towards her side of the bed, removed her wrapper and climbed into the soft, silk sheets. Rhett watched her for a few moments and then did the same, discarding his dressing gown on the floor. When he was under the covers, he tentatively inched across the mattress towards his wife and then gently wrapped his arms around her.

She could sense his body twitching as though he was about to fall asleep. But Scarlett wasn't tired. Her mind was still swirling from the events of the last few hours and she still wanted to talk.

"I think what hurts most of all, is that you never told me. I only know now because I found an incriminating letter from Hélène."

Rhett sniffed derisorily. "Come now, Scarlett, don't tell me you would have welcomed my ward, and Hélène, with open arms."

"No…but…I might have understood Rhett. I would _hope_ that I would have understood. He was a child. A boy." He yawned and then leaned across her and cradled her head in his hands, his dark eyes meeting her own.

"Do you realise how scared I was of asking you to marry me, without this additional albatross round my neck? I thought that perhaps, in time, we might have gone to New Orleans together again, and I could have introduced you to James and perhaps tried to tell you the story then. But it's not a pleasant story. None of us – Stephen, Hélène, me – behaved particularly well. Stephen could have married her, even when he was dying. He was lucid until the very end. He let Hélène down very badly. Maybe James would still be alive if he had? Who knows? And I…well, I perhaps should have made her stay in New Orleans with the baby, supported her. I had the money. And maybe if Hélène hadn't abandoned him, or given him that sense of abandonment… "

"And you know what else, Rhett? You know what else is painful in all of this. Realising how estranged we were that I didn't even realise that he had died. That someone as significant as your ward had died. And I didn't know! And you couldn't tell me! I mean what sort of a wife does that make me?"

"And what sort of a husband does that make me, Scarlett?" Rhett responded quickly. "That I didn't _want_ to tell you."

Scarlett ignored him. "And then…the fact that you could gain comfort in Hélène's arms but not mine." She blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She was still unable to think of Bonnie without crying, even though the first anniversary had passed. "I used to hope that you would come to my bedroom…after Bonnie…"She paused and then hiccoughed. "I mean, I used to leave my door slightly ajar in the vain hope that if you wanted…intimacy…you might look for it with me…your wife…rather than…rather than…Belle." She still struggled to say the name of his mistress without virulence.

Rhett sighed. "I would have only been using you Scarlett, if I had come to your bedroom. If we had slept together in those weeks, I would only have hurt you. And confused you. I pretty much hated you at that time."

"Maybe I wouldn't have minded being hurt by you or used by you in that way. It would have salved my conscience. For saying what I had said when Bonnie died, for being such a terrible wife, for refusing to share my bed with you for all those years. It would have been my hair shirt. And I…" She started crying softly again, and twisted her body away from his. His hands dropped from her face and snaked round her waist, pulling her closer. "I wanted you, Rhett. I wanted you to hold me in your arms and reminisce about Bonnie. Try and keep those memories intact. Remember her as parents together."

"We're doing that now, Scarlett. We can do that tomorrow. We can do that next week, next month, next year. However much you want to talk about her."

"I know…it's just…" She paused as she allowed another bout of hiccoughing to take over her body. "It hurts Rhett that you went with…other woman…with Belle…with Hélène…maybe with others…but not with me. When I was Bonnie's mother. When I was your wife. It's all rather humiliating." She screwed up her eyes as she tried to remove the images of her husband with his various paramours. "How did our marriage disintegrate to such an extent that we didn't even _touch_ each other after she died. Not once did we even…hug…each other. And we barely spoke. Even afterwards, after we had buried her, after the initial bout of that terrible grief and pain had subsided. I wanted to force you to talk to me but you were so…you were so…blank…"

"Honey, please stop all these recriminations. We were both at fault. Maybe the only way we could have got through it all, was to be on our own? I don't know. But just as you weren't yourself after she died, neither was I."

And then Scarlett started crying again, properly sobbing. She was crying for the dead boy she had never known, for the pain her husband must have gone through, for her actions after Bonnie had died, for Bonnie. And then finally she fell asleep as Rhett stared up onto the ceiling until the early hours of the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett slept badly, on the cusp of various nightmares and woke early. She crept out of bed whilst her husband was still sleeping, pulled on her wrapper and then grabbed the clothes she was going to travel in. Her new dresses were arriving today but she wanted to save them for the boat.

She walked into one of Wycliffe House's spare bedrooms and called for Mary to help her dress. Then she asked Clarence to get Miss Eleanor's carriage ready. She had decided that she was going to go and meet Hélène.

By nine o'clock, she was sitting in the main lounge of the hotel, drinking coffee, having left a note at the reception for Hélène. Twenty minutes later, she heard light footsteps on the wooden floor and she turned her head.

"Mrs Butler," Hélène said as she walked across the room.

Hélène was dressed in a lilac gown that was slightly too low-cut, emphasising her lack of bosom. The colour didn't suit her either, making her olive skin look washed out, almost grey.

Scarlett stood up from the chair as Hélène held out her hand. If they hadn't been in a public place, Scarlett wouldn't have taken it

"Mademoiselle Malet," Scarlett said tersely.

Their eyes locked for a few moments and then Scarlett looked her up and down. She was too thin to be considered attractive. Her cheekbones were too pronounced, too angular, her eyes were too deep set, sunken almost and her dark hair, which she had pulled back loosely in a chignon that brushed her nape, had flecks of grey through it. She looked all of her forty odd years.

Without waiting to be invited, Hélène took the chair opposite Scarlett and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher that had been brought to the table.

"I wondered if we would meet again," Hélène said with a faint French lilt, after she had smoothed her skirt. "And I wondered in what circumstances." She paused as she scrutinised Scarlett's face. "And judging by your…expression, I imagine Rhett has told you about me." She picked up her glass again and sipped it, without taking her eyes off Scarlett. "And about James."

Scarlett sucked in her breath. This woman was either brave to throw the gauntlet down like that so soon or liked to deliberately provoke. Or Scarlett herself was too readable.

Scarlett nodded, her jaw hardening defiantly. She stared again at Hélène and then narrowed her eyes.

"Indeed. He has told me. Including what happened between the two of you at Christmas."

Hélène smiled faintly, almost nostalgically. "We were two lonely people, looking for comfort. It was…natural."

"And your moral conscience doesn't stop you sleeping with a married man?" Scarlett snapped.

Hélène's eyes widened at the slight. "Not if he doesn't want to be married and his wife won't give him a divorce."

"How dare-" Scarlett stopped and literally bit her tongue, tasting blood. She averted her eyes from the woman as she counted to ten, refusing to rise to her bait. Had she made a mistake in coming to see this woman? Somehow, hearing about her husband's carnal exploits from someone other than him was more painful than hearing his own confession. She wondered why it should be like that. What was so different about Hélène to all the other random women he had, no doubt, been taking to bed for years? Was it just that she was no longer nameless and faceless, as the other women had been?

Scarlett straightened her back and lifted her chin. Rhett had chosen her and, more importantly, she had chosen him. _She_ was his wife, not this pathetic, bitter creature sitting in front of her.

"Rhett and I are going to Europe this evening," Scarlett said abruptly.

Hélène smiled at Scarlett. "I know," she said.

"Rhett told you?" Scarlett asked quickly, her brow furrowing in confusion and indignation, her cool composure evaporating.

"He sent me a note the other day, saying that he and you were trying to…reconcile…and that he was taking you away. He didn't give specifics but I suspected Europe."

Scarlett nodded. "And after that, we are returning to our home in Atlanta."

Hélène smiled again. "So you persuaded him to return?" The way she said it made it sound as though Scarlett was forcing Rhett to return with her.

"Persuaded, no. He _wants _to come home," said Scarlet, allowing irritation to creep into her voice. Rhett was willingly going back with her to Atlanta. There was no coersion involved.

A silence fell between them and Scarlett studied Hélène again. She remembered how the ladies on the train had talked of her _tiny_ waist and so her eyes went down to her mid-section. It was small – not as small as her own had been, before she had had children, even after she had had Wade – but it was smaller than her own waist was now. Then she glanced back at her face. She had a petite, upturned nose, a high forehead and only a few wrinkles around her mouth. At a pinch, you could call her _pretty_ Scarlett thought. But not beautiful or striking. And she wasn't old enough yet to be called _handsome_ _. _

Hélène cleared her throat as she placed her glass down on the table. "Mrs Butler, why did you want to see me?" She raised her plucked eyebrows. "To check out your competition?"

"No…not at all. I…" Scarlett began but the directness of Hélène's question temporary stalled her.

Hélène leaned back in the chair, as though she was assessing Scarlett. Then she shifted her body closer to the edge of the settee. "I think you did want to see me for that very reason. And if I was in your position, I would probably do the same. I've always had a soft spot for your husband and if circumstances had been different then maybe…" Her voice trailed off. She closed her eyes and, after a moment, she shook her head. "But they're not." She moved even closer to Scarlett, so that Scarlett could see the powder that was creasing in her faint lines and could smell the mint on her breath. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I think you came here to warn me off your husband."

Now that she had been rumbled, Scarlett didn't hold back. "I want to make sure that you leave him alone, Mademoiselle Malet! Whatever might have happened to you in the past, will not happen again. He just feels sorry for you."

Hélène visibly bristled before she regained her composure. "Is that what he told you?" she smirked, which irked Scarlett. "Believe that if it makes it easier for you to accept. I admit that once, I might have had designs on him. But Mrs Butler, I can assure you that if you make him happy and he wants to be with you, I won't interfere."

"What of your letters, Mademoiselle Malet?" Scarlett hissed back. "I don't want you writing to him any more."

"Why?"

"James is dead and there is no need. Besides, he is not your _darling_, he is not yours in any shape or form. He was good enough to be the guardian of your illegitimate child whilst you gallivanted round Paris, pretending you had not a care in the world, when in fact you had a child. I might be many things, but I have never and _would_ never abandon my children."

Scarlett heard Hélène breathe in sharply and then she saw her eyes mist over. "I think I've heard enough. I didn't think it would be a good idea to meet you but I thought it would have been rude to not hear what you had to say." She stood up and Scarlett rose with her, levelling her gaze. She turned towards the door but then over her shoulder she said bitterly, "What would you have done, Mrs Butler, if you suddenly found yourself pregnant, alone, unmarried? With your mother dead and your father having disowned you? I had no choice."

Scarlett stared at her and saw a single tear trickle down her face, leaving a groove in her rouge.

"I thought you might have understood," she continued. "After all, you lost a child, too, and from all accounts, you weren't a perfect mother."

Scarlett swallowed as she continued to stare at her. What had Rhett told Hélène about her? How much did she know about their own broken marriage? Her own disinterest in her children? Her own failure to properly bond with Wade and Ella. She didn't say anything.

"If I had my time again, don't you think I would do things differently?" Hélène said, her voice cracking. "Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you have done things differently? Don't you regret _anything_?"

Scarlett felt uncomfortable, startled by the woman's candour, startled by how she could voice her regrets so openly. Yes, Scarlett had regrets, too many regrets. And if things had been different between her and Rhett, maybe Bonnie wouldn't be dead. And she wouldn't have had to go through the last horrible year alone either.

They both looked at each other, neither blinking. It was like a stand-off, a duel. Rhett's words were ringing in Scarlett's head. Regrets, regrets, regrets. "Yes," she finally whispered, choking back her own tears which had seemingly sprung from nowhere. "Yes, I would have done things differently."

"But we don't get to, do we?" Hélène replied, her voice smoother and calm. "We don't get to _do over_, do we? And all I am left with, is regret. I didn't even make his funeral!" She turned her body fully round so that she was completely facing Scarlett. "My time with your husband in December last year…it wasn't…I mean…we _comforted_ each other. Sometimes, physical intimacy helps. And he understood what I was going through. He had also lost James…"

For a moment, Scarlett wondered if she was about to confess and panic hit her. Was she about to reveal that James had been Rhett's child after all? Scarlett braced herself for the revelation, wondering how Hélène would say it, wondering how she, Scarlett, would handle it. She caught her breath and waited not really wanting to hear any more. She could cope with the narrative of the story that Rhett had told last night. It was the best it could be. She didn't want any amendments. She wanted that uncertainty. She alone wanted to be the mother of his children.

But no confession came. Instead she said. "James might have only been his…ward…but Rhett was the one person who I knew who came close to understanding how I felt. He had lost your daughter. He understood what it was like to lose a child."

Hélène reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. Then she faced Scarlett again and smiled, showing perfectly straight teeth.

"It's funny, Mrs Butler. In a different life, with different circumstances, perhaps we could have been friends. I don't think we are all that different," and she turned on her heels and left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N Since I have been writing this story, I have engaged in many messaging about whether the ward was Rhett's biological child. Some people believe that it was just too coincidental, but others thought that if Rhett had had a child, then he wouldn't have been so distant from it. He was, after all, besotted with children and very good with them. So I came to wonder whether there had been a question mark over the paternity of the child. Hence, this was my explanation. I obviously don't know what New Orleans was like in the 1850s, but I sort of imagined it as being hedonistic – and people might raise eyebrows about behaviour but that was about it. _

_The reason for me thinking that Rhett was uncertain about whether the ward was his child or not is pulled from: (a) Rhett talking to Scarlett about his ward in Atlanta after she had had Ella and him wanting her to keep quiet about it. He professed not to care about his reputation – so why would he care about people finding out he had a child if it was indeed his own child? (b) Rhett's conversation with Wade when Bonnie was born. He didn't answer Wade's question about Wade being his only "boy" – I think it was because he couldn't give a truthful answer because he didn't know. But if he had had a son already, then Rhett would never have said "Now, why should I want a boy when I've already got one?" to Wade. (c) I just can't believe that Rhett would have kept the child away from him (physically) for all those years. But I can see arguments on all sides and I understand why some people think the ward was his child (like Aramanth)._

_In any event, I (the romantic in me) likes to think Scarlett was the only woman he had children with._

_Oh – and as for the ward being Belle's son. I like that idea (and Ondine of course you have done a great job with it) but for some strange reason when I read GWTW and watched the film, I never got the sense the ward and Belle's son were one and the same. Who knows why? I am sure MM meant us to think that. Too coincidental._

_And as for the boy's death – maybe a bit far fetched, but I often thought "Was there something else that tripped Rhett over to make him leave Scarlett when he did?" Obviously MM was pretty rubbish at giving timelines. We know Bonnie was 4 when she died and that they had been married for 6 years when Rhett left her. But was she 4 and ½? How long was it after they got married did Scarlett fall pregnant? I always got the feeling it was a few months – maybe 3 or 4 months – maybe 6 months. Which means, how long had Bonnie been dead before Rhett left Scarlett? Weeks, months? And why did he wait? Why didn't he leave her after Bonnie's funeral? I know he was drunk - was he just constantly drunk that he couldn't think clearly? Perhaps so. But I wondered if there was some other trigger that forced his hand and so in my story, the other trigger is him hearing about James dying. It pushed him over the edge and he realised that really, his life was meaningless. Or that he still had a life to lead and he didn't want to do it trapped in a marriage to someone he no longer loved and who made him that's my reason for the boy's death._

_And for those people that think Scarlett is too weak in this story, maybe. We are all entitled to our own opinions. But it wasn't my intention to make a weak Scarlett! She was definitely on the verge of a breakdown when Bonnie died and I think the double whammy of Rhett leaving her/and Melly dying might have pushed her over the edge. When you have witnessed breakdowns, mental health issues – you see that even the strongest can be broken. And even when they are fixed – there is still that vulnerability. Scarlett isn't exactly broken but she was clinging on to sanity , trying to take each day at a time before Rhett re-appeared at the end of March._

_I hope I have portrayed Hélène with some degree of pathos. She isn't a villain, just a woman who was caught up in circumstances that weren't entirely her own making and she did what she had to do to survive. And if Rhett Butler suddenly walked into my life after several years away, slept with me a few times and purported to be through with his marriage, then maybe, just maybe, I would have pursued him too. That was all that she was doing. Rhett didn't encourage her – he just made a mistake in December._

_Oh, and one last thing. Yes - a bit cringeworthy that I gave the French version of my name to the ward's mother. The only reason was I couldn't think quickly of a French name that had not been used by Amaranth in her story per aspera ad astra - and I am always hopeless at thinking of names of my characters (and my stories!) So forgive me that indulgence!_

_NEW PS Some of you have asked why Scarlett wanted to meet Helene. I think sometimes Scarlett acts before she thinks (this is another example of this) and Helene is right - she did want to check up on her competition. Scarlett needed to be satisfied that Rhett's relationship with the woman is dead and to make sure that Rhett had only slept with Helene in December - not since he visited Scarlett in Atlanta in March/April - and Helene confirms that. If Rhett had carried on sleeping with Helene after he had seen Scarlett in March/April, then I think his reconciliation with Scarlett would be on even shakier ground than it already is. BTW - I always think Rhett speaks the truth. The only time he didn't was re: his love for Scarlett. My Rhett does now speak the truth though he is still confused about his feelings - so he hasn't told Scarlett he loves her (and neither has she yet). Oh, and also Scarlett does want to warn off this woman - I remember a comment Dixie made to me once that Scarlett should be fighting for her man - this was meant to be in part addressing that comment. I am also conscious that at the end of GWTW Scarlett was so determined that she would get Rhett back (there had never been a man she couldn't get once she had set her mind to it) and apart from sleeping with him in Charleston, she hasn't really done much of that (I'll explain my reasons for that slight lack of action at the end of the story). And I also wanted to explore women of that time a bit - how times (thankfully) have moved on so that if a girl gets pregnant out of wedlock it isn't an ostracisable event! I am sure there were lots of women like Helene in the 1850s - from good families - who found themselves in the family way. I know some people on this site even think that Philippe and Ellen had slept together (though I am not sure I am one of them)._

_Enough of my ramblings._


	44. Chapter 44

_A slight holding chapter. One more chapter before we go back to Atlanta and find out about what Wade and Ella and Henry and Eleanor have been doing._

_C122 – have tried not to make this saccharine. I too share that concern. I don't want their reconciliation to drift towards everything being sweet and lovey-dovey between them._

_This chapter is an attempt to show that they are compromising although there are still issues._

Chapter 44

She arrived back at Wycliffe House at eleven o'clock. Rhett was in the parlour, reading a newspaper. He glanced up as she swept past the doorway, but she kept her eyes focussed ahead and pretended she hadn't caught his eye.

"Scarlett?"

She had just put her foot on the first step of the staircase.

"Yes, darling?" she called out, hoping he could not detect the guilt she felt. Although why she should feel guilty, when he was the one who had been unfaithful, she wasn't entirely sure.

She breathed deeply a couple of times, smoothed imagined creases in her skirt and retraced her steps.

"Where have you been?" he asked as she poked her dark head round the corner of the doors.

"I needed to go to the pharmacy, darling. I wanted to buy a few things ahead of our vacation." She had planned her excuse as she had driven the buggy back from the hotel and the lie slipped off her tongue easily.

"Like what? What did you need to buy?"

"Just things, darling. Female things. This and that."

He raised his eyebrows and she felt her palms go sweaty. For some reason she didn't want to explain that she had felt compelled to visit Hélène, to remind the woman that her husband was married to her. He would either laugh at her and make her feel silly or he would accuse her of not trusting him and she would get angry. And she didn't want to deal with either emotion today.

She glanced out towards the hallway and heard some footsteps on the upper hallway. She should change the topic of conversation. "Have the dress-"

"Where are they?" he asked calmly, staring at her empty hands. She cursed silently. How stupid of her! She hadn't even taken her reticule. "

"What?"

"Your female _things_?"

"They didn't have what I wanted," she said quickly, averting her eyes from his gaze and back towards the staircase. "Rhett, really. Am I going to get the Spanish inquisition every time I go out? Maybe I wanted to surprise _you_ with something, like you did the other night when you arranged the trip to Europe." She cleared her throat and hoped she sounded authoritative. "Have my…have my dresses arrived?"

She could feel him staring at her and she wondered if he was about to call her out. He had always been able to see through her untruths.

But instead he shook his head and said, "Yes. They're in our bedroom. They will need to be packed. I think Sally is up there now, trying to sort out your luggage."

"I'll go and check up on her then," Scarlett replied, eager to get away from her husband.

"Don't be too long. I've asked your aunts and Uncle Carey for dinner. They'll be arriving in an hour or so."

Scarlett grimaced at the thought of having to spend yet more time with her aunts. She had exhausted all topics of conversation with them after the first visit. All they were really interested in was scrutinising her relationship with her husband.

"Darling, don't look like that. They're your aunts."

She scowled at him. Was he doing this to be mischievous? "Next time, perhaps you could consult me before inviting guests over," she replied tartly.

He sucked in his breath. "Hmmm. I don't recall you ever extending the same courtesy to me, but I'll try to remember your sentiments." He paused as her eyes danced with irritation. "Darling, really! You won't be seeing them again for a good few months."

"Fine Rhett. But I've spent three afternoons with them already which was more than enough. I really don't understand why you have to invite them all around again. I'll go and get changed and check up on Sally and I'll be down in an hour."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett's aunts and uncle arrived, ate dinner and left and then Scarlett spent her last hour at Wycliffe House, finishing her packing, a nervous excitement building inside her. By half past five, she and Rhett were being driven by Clarence to the docks and by six o'clock, they were boarding the ship and being escorted to their cabin by the captain, whom Rhett had known in his youth.

Other than a paddlewheel and a canoe, Scarlett had never been on a boat before and she wasn't entirely sure what to expect. But when the doors to their cabin were opened she gasped. It was almost as large as their honeymoon suite in New Orleans had been. It had a large bedroom with a huge bed in the centre, two separate dressing rooms, a washing area with a roll top bath in it, and a sitting room with a dining area and it was furnished in silks and satins and Louis XIV style furniture and exquisite cushions and paintings.

"From your expression, I take it you approve," Rhett said after the captain had left. He removed his jacket and loosened his cravat as he watched the delight envelop her face.

"Oh Rhett, it's just beautiful! I never imagined that a cabin could be so…so…elegant!" and she flung her arms around him and kissed him.

"I thought we could ask for our supper to be brought here," he whispered as he tightened his hold around her. "After all, this is meant to be like a honeymoon and I would rather spend my time with just you tonight than have to share you with other people."

He started kissing her properly then. Soft, probing kisses that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Somehow, he managed to loosen her dress and then his hands moved underneath her chemise so that they were touching her bare skin. A delicious tingling sensation spread along her spine and down her arms and then her petticoats pooled on the floor as he lifted her out of them.

But just as she tipped her head up to kiss him again, he broke away and walked back to his jacket and fumbled around in the inside pocket. Then, he returned to where she was standing.

"Mrs Butler, I think you forgot this in your hurry to leave our bedroom this morning," he said as he uncurled his palm. Nestled in the bed of his hand was her wedding ring.

She stood still for a moment, trying to read him. His eyes were not mocking her, but flickering with that old intensity that she hoped was love, even if it remained unspoken.

He picked the gold band up in his right hand and placed it on her third finger, left hand. "Do you realise I had to compromise _all_ my principles in order to put this on your finger the first time, Scarlett?" he murmured. "You can only take it off again if you actually go ahead with your threat to divorce me. Or if I die and you marry again or, temporarily if…" His voice trailed off but she finished his third alternative for him silently in her head. "_Or if I get pregnant and my fingers swell up_._ Like they did with Bonnie."_

She nodded. "I didn't mean to throw my ring at you. I was being childish."

"Oh, I think you meant it. You were being…dramatic. And on reflection, I can see how I pushed you to the edge. I hadn't wanted you to find out about Hélène and James, certainly not in the way you did." He brushed his lips against hers. "Scarlett, since April, I haven't so much as looked at another woman, much less touched one." He paused as he cupped her face in his hands.

"I know you are taking a risk on…us…again," he continued. "And I am too. But I meant what I said in October. I can't have my heart broken a third time. And if you stop loving me, then you might as well shoot me when you do."

"So…you…believe me? That I love you, Rhett? And not anyone else?"

He nodded slowly. His eyes locked with hers and she stood motionless, waiting for him to tell her that he loved her too. But when he didn't, she whispered. "And I can't have my heart broken either, Rhett."

Then he started kissing her again, leisurely at first and then with increasing intensity whilst she tried to think of what all this meant. He hadn't told her he loved her, but that would come. She was sure of it. She just had to think back over the last few days, and see how far they had come, to know he loved her. She felt his hands move to her bodice and her stays peel away and then he carried her through to the bedroom, his lips barely leaving her own. It was like she was in a dream and in her dreams at least, every kiss, every caress, was him telling her he loved her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After an initial bout of sea sickness when the sea had been choppy, the seas had calmed and Scarlett had enjoyed the crossing. And enjoyed being able to dress up again.

After the first evening, they dined in the main dining room for supper and then danced in the ballroom, often until after midnight. A few times, people had mistaken them for a newly-wed couple, rather than a couple who had just celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary, and welcoming the attention that all newly-weds got, Scarlett did nothing to dispel the false rumour.

When they did venture out of their suite, the other passengers swarmed around them. The men tried to engage Rhett in conversation and then tear Scarlett out of her husband's arms for at least one dance, whilst the women attempted to coax her to play whist or take tea with them in the afternoons. But Scarlett only accepted a quarter of the invitations, for her interest was fixed firmly on her husband. She only wanted to be with him and yearned for the times in the day when he would whisk her back to their suite on some false pretext and take her back to bed – even if it was mid-afternoon. Thank heavens he knew how to lace a woman!

When Scarlett did partake in social discourse, her ears always pricked up when the conversation turned to Paris or London. She mentally noted the best hotels to dine in, the best shops to visit, the best parks to walk through, forgetting that her husband had visited both cities on many occasions, and most recently, less than a year ago.

"And you must try and take in a concert at the Royal Albert Hall," she was told by one lady, who was apparently a distant cousin of the beautiful, Danish Princess of Wales. "It is one of the most elegant buildings in London, as you would expect for our Queen's consort. Although the acoustics aren't quite what they had expected – there is a dreadful echo. The joke is that at least a composer gets to hear his own work twice."

Scarlett loved hearing about the royal family too and thought the tragic story of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert one of the most romantic she had ever heard. "Imagine wearing black for over twelve years! How dull!"

Rhett had laughed. "Maybe that's what true love is all about, darling. Wouldn't you wear black for me for the rest of your life?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee. You've got to be joking!" Scarlett had replied. "I'm not sure you even deserve a _year_ of black. Besides, weren't you telling me only the other day that it is ridiculous that people can't wear what they want in their own home?"

The only topic of conversation that Rhett steadfastly steered away from was the topic of children. On more than one occasion, they were asked how many children they had and Scarlett noticed how quiet Rhett became. _Two now_, she would answer carefully, her eyes on her husband, _but our youngest child died a year ago_. And then the thoughtless passenger would comment that surely more would come and Scarlett would watch as Rhett remained mute and grimaced.

Children! Another child! How she longed to be pregnant again! It would seal the relationship, and, in her mind, make it impossible for Rhett to leave her again. But, apart from the first night of their reconciliation, when everything had happened too quickly, Rhett had, for the first time in their relationship, started wearing prophylactics when they made love. She had heard whispers about these a long time ago, when she had hosted her whist evenings with Mamie Bart and Sylvia Connington, but, too embarrassed to ask exactly what they were, her knowledge of them was scarce and ill-informed. And then, last year, she remembered overhearing a conversation about the Comstock laws coming into effect, banning such things (although she wasn't entirely sure what they were banning).

She tried to bring the subject up a couple of times over supper but Rhett had merely batted it away and told her that he would rather have fun with her, than have to worry about the possibility of having another child. And weren't Ella and Wade enough?

His comments had troubled her but his complete aversion to discussing it, had troubled her even more. Yes, she was having fun, and she had never thought that sharing a bed with a man could be _quite_ so much fun, but she wanted another child, _his _child. Was this the new life he wanted, a childless life, or at least a life only with Wade and Ella, who were growing up fast and would likely both be married in ten years' time or even less? Was it because of the death of both Bonnie and James that had made him like this? Or was it because he was still uncertain about her, wanted to be free to leave her again? It made no sense. Rhett Butler was crazy about children, so why the reluctance to have a baby with her?

As the days went by, she thought about it more and more. She needed to be patient she decided. He would either change his mind or he would slip up. He would get carried away in the heat of the moment and she certainly wouldn't remind him. They had only been reconciled for a couple of weeks, she reminded herself. And if he was still resisting the idea when they returned to Atlanta, she would take matters into her own hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six nights after they set sail from Charleston, they arrived in Southampton, on the South coast of England and journeyed up to London by train where they settled in the bridal suite at the Grosvenor Hotel in Victoria, with views towards Buckingham Palace.

Despite the smog, Scarlett adored the hustle and bustle of London and every morning, after a walk in St James' Park amongst the pelicans and squirrels, she would insist that Rhett accompany her along Piccadilly, Regent Street or Oxford Street so that she could jot down ideas for her own store. She fell in love with Fortnum and Mason, even more so when she heard it provided food to the royal household and wondered if a similar, large shop selling clothes, household goods and food with a restaurant attached, might succeed in Atlanta.

"What do you think, Rhett?" she had asked when they were sitting eating breakfast one morning. "I could buy the old plot that is on the corner of Eighth and Marietta. That would be big enough."

Rhett was reading a newspaper but he put it down and looked at his wife. "Isn't Kennedy's enough? If you took on something of a scale similar to Fortnum and Mason, you wouldn't have any free time."

"Yes I would, Rhett," she replied. "I would employ-"

"Yes, yes. I know," he said dismissively. "You would employ staff. Engage a manager. But _you_ would oversee it." He moved his coffee cup and leaned across the table towards her. "There wouldn't be time for all those charitable things you enjoy doing so much," he said raising his eyebrows, "And you would have even less time to spend with Wade and Ella…and me." She glanced up at him.

"Rhett, you-"

"And in any event, darling, why do you need to do something else? Why do you want to add to your workload? You're already one of the most successful businesswomen in Atlanta-"

"But think of the money a shop like that would bring in!"

"Bigger isn't always better, honey. And, unless you have forgotten, there is a recession going on at the moment." He placed his napkin down on the table and took his wife's hand. "And we don't need the money. Honestly darling, if neither of us did another day's work again in our lives, we would still die with plenty left in the bank."

"But it's _your_ money, Rhett. Not mine."

"It's _ours_, Scarlett."

"Is it? What happens if you leave me again?" she said softly and then immediately wished she could recant. She hadn't meant to voice her insecurity but it was always there, bubbling underneath the surface, despite the daily love-making, the presents, the constant whisper of sweet-nothings.

His dark eyes settled on her for a few moments and then he sighed. She suddenly felt nervous as though she had irritated him and unsettled the happy mood.

"I mean, Rhett," she stumbled, trying to steer the conversation away from talk of leaving her. "How do I know that you have all this money? I don't even know what you do!"

"You don't know what I do, Scarlett, because you've never asked me," he replied quietly. Her eyes shot up to his face. What he said was true. She had never asked him, but that wasn't because she had been indifferent. It was because she had always felt that he hadn't wanted to tell her. It was his way of keeping something back from her, his way of keeping his independence.

"I know Rhett and I want to change that. I want to know how you fill your day, what you do, what you own. You know everything about me but I don't really know much about you. I learnt more from your mother during the week she stayed with me in Atlanta than I did in six years of living with you! I don't want any more surprises like Hélène or to find out that you own a house that you have never told me about. I want to know how you make your money and how much money you have. I have no idea!"

He smiled. "Money. It always comes down to money with you."

She felt stung by his words. "No…I…what I mean is that I want to know what you do during the day to make your money. When we…lived together before, you would just disappear and I would never know where you were, what you were doing, who you were seeing. I know money doesn't grow on trees but you never shared with me how you invested your money or how much you really had."

"Most wives don't need to know how much their husband is worth so long as the bills are paid."

"I'm not most wives though, Rhett."

"Alright Scarlett. Ask any question you want to know the answer to and I will try my best to reply."

And so she did. And through his answers she found out that he owned half of one of the banks in Atlanta, saloons in New Orleans, Macon, Baton Rouge and Texas, had invested in a medical company in Hull, England, a horse farm in Ireland, a vineyard in France. And that if he liquidated it all, he probably had thirty million dollars. Scarlett's jaw fell wide open – it was more money that she had ever envisaged, thirty times more money than she had thought he had. She had had no idea that her husband was worth that much.

Scarlett, having migrated to her husband's lap, was resting her head pensively on his chest. "Rhett, if you have all these businesses and all this money then...well, I've been thinking. If you are going to come and live in Atlanta again, with me, I want you to sell Belle Watling's establishment. You obviously don't need the income." She swallowed a couple of times, and tried to continue but her mouth had gone all dry.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

"Yes," she answered nervously. "I want…I want…to….know that your ties to that woman are severed. I don't want to have to deal with the gossip and…" she stalled again.

She felt his body stiffen. If he was angry with her for bringing up the name of his mistress then so be it. Just like her, he too had to compromise, if this new relationship between them was going to work. She slowly lifted her head up and looked at him but he didn't seem annoyed. He seemed contemplative.

Finally, he reached down and ran his lips through her hair. "That's a fair request, Scarlett. But I'd like to give the house to Belle rather than sell it to her or anyone else. She's been a good friend to me over the years."

A good friend? Scarlett breathed in sharply. She might have been a _friend_ to her husband, but she had been _her _foe. What had she really said to Rhett over the years about her? She had sometimes wondered whether the barbs that her husband had thrown at her over the years, might first have come from her mouth. Had she planted the seed in his mind to leave her in October? And if she hadn't made it so easy for him to find another warm bed all those years ago, might he have fought for her earlier, made her see sense about her ridiculous demand for separate bedrooms? And now Rhett wanted to _give_ her the title deeds to her house of ill-repute! Hadn't that woman had enough patronage from him over the years, without this latest benevolence? But Scarlett bit her lip and swallowed her rebuttal. If Rhett no longer had ties to that woman – financial or otherwise – that would be good enough for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a week in London, they took a boat from Dover to Calais, arriving in Paris by nightfall. Rhett had booked a suite at the Grand Hotel du Louvre, which Scarlett was delighted to find was next door to Galeries du Louvre, a fashionable new department store. The hotel also had interpreters who seemed to fall over themselves to assist the charming Mrs Butler.

She found she loved Paris more than London. It was cleaner, less chaotic and not swathed in dull grey skies. As in London, Rhett knew the city inside out. He knew exactly where to take her shopping, how to skip the queues at art galleries and river cruises and even managed to obtain a four hour appointment for Scarlett at the House of Worth, no mean feat considering that even the titled gentry had been known to have been turned away.

Scarlett was having fun – as much fun as she had had during her original honeymoon but she was also learning what interested her husband and gave him pleasure. She had never realised before how much he enjoyed art, and even though she would rather have shopped, she diligently and willingly accompanied him to the galleries and art studios and tried really hard to appreciate the architecture that he pointed out and marvelled at.

Rhett, for his part, was as attentive as she had ever remembered him being. Every morning, she awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries and the sound of birds chirping on the window-sill. Rhett was always up and dressed by the time she stirred. Sometimes he would bring breakfast to the bed and eat with her; other times he would be hustling her to get ready as he had made plans for them.

"I've never known you to sleep so late, Scarlett," he teased when she awoke one morning past ten o'clock.

"That's because you keep me awake so late, Rhett," she replied. He smiled at her, his black eyes twinkling and then, as though he was acknowledging her point, he climbed back onto the bed, pushed her back down and started kissing her which culminated in them missing the appointment Rhett had arranged at Edouard Manet's art studio.

But it wasn't just her husband's seemingly endless capacity for lovemaking that made her sleep in so late, it was his very presence. She no longer awoke in the middle of the night, fretful and anxious. She no longer tossed and turned for hours on end, in the vain hope that she might fall asleep again. She felt at peace – in a way that she hadn't felt since the earliest days of their marriage, when she had trusted that Rhett would take care of her and she no longer had to worry about going hungry or keeping a roof over her family's head. She felt rested, fresh and younger than she had in years and she knew a large part of her reinvigoration was due to her husband.

On their last night in Paris, Rhett had decided to take Scarlett to the new Palais Garnier, to see Rigoletto. Scarlett had only ever been to one opera in her life before and the experience had bored her to tears. She would have far preferred to have gone to one of the can-can shows he had already taken her to but she swallowed her disappointment and got ready for the evening, her husband reassuring her that she would enjoy the romantic tragedy of the piece, even if she didn't much care for the music.

"You look beautiful darling," he said as she dismissed the maid and entered the sitting room where he was sitting smoking a cigar. She was wearing her new burgundy gown with onyx sewn into the bodice. She felt his eyes sweep over her critically and then he said, "You're missing something."

She looked down at her dress. "Missing something? But I thought you didn't like excessive frills or-"

"Not on the gown. Around your neck. And those ear bobs. Pearls with onyx? It doesn't work, Scarlett. Not with that bodice."

"All my jewellery is back in Atlanta, Rhett," she said defensively. "How was I to know that I would end up in Europe? I don't have anything else." Which was true. She had rushed to Charleston so quickly that she had had no time to think much beyond her travelling attire and her mourning dresses.

"I know darling," he said simply. "And that's why I bought this for you." From behind his back, he handed her an elegant square wooden box. She took it from him and opened it. Inside was a strand of onyx beads with a large onyx drop and matching earbobs. It wasn't wholly dissimilar to the set she had once owned except her own set had not had the drop onyx and she was sure that there had only been five onyx stones on each ear bob, not six.

"I know you…er…have something similar at home, but I saw this in a jewellery shop the other morning and it wasn't overly expensive. You can give it to Ella when she's older." Scarlett nodded, thrilled that she finally had some jewellery to wear again. Rhett put the strand of black stones round her neck and then she put on the matching earbobs. Oh, how she missed her jewellery!

He was watching her curiously, as though he was waiting for her to say something. She wondered briefly if she should come clean and tell him that she no longer _had _her original set of onyx but she didn't want to ruin the moment. And she didn't really have time to explain. They had to leave in five minutes. So instead she stood on her toes and kissed him.

"You are good to me, darling. But, I don't want you to think that you have to buy me again. You know…you know you don't have to do that. You know how I feel about you."

His eyes suddenly focussed on her own emerald orbs, in that way of his that made her feel as though he was trying to bore into her soul.

"How _do_ you feel about me, Scarlett?" he murmured.

She looked quizzically at him.

"Haven't I shown you, Rhett and told you?" she replied awkwardly.

"Tell me again," he commanded.

She took a deep breath. _He_ still hadn't told her he loved her, but he wanted to hear _her_ repeat her own proclamation? She hadn't wanted to say those three precious words until he had said them to her, but he had already made her say them once. _I love you like I have never loved anyone before. I love you in a way I never thought possible to love someone. I love you so much that I can't bear it when you aren't close to me. And I know that if you decide this reconciliation isn't working, and you walk away again, you will destroy me. _She wanted to say all of that but she needed something from him too.

But she didn't say any of that. That could wait, if it was to be said at all.

"I feel like a woman should feel about her husband, Rhett," she replied saucily and then, without looking at him, she put on her gloves and linked her arm through his. "Ready?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N Worth was the first haute couture house. He was actually an Englishman who decamped to Paris. Took a few liberties on the some of the details here – Palais Garnier opened in 1875 – we are only in September 1874._

_Agnes – thank you for reminding me about the wedding ring. Ondine – remembered your advice that when you can't link a passage – just put a break in._

_Struggling to finish this so thanks for your reviews – authors out there know how much reviews spur you on! _

_PS Thanks to Ondine for giving me the inflated figure for the money - $200m is a lot but I wanted him to have more than that - so I have made him have $30m (which equates to about $600 m in today's currency). Of course, I have no real idea how rich Rhett was. Just my guess._


	45. Chapter 45

_A shortish chapter, not perfect._

_BTW – to Dixie who asked about the proliferation of us fan fic authors making Rhett use contraception. I hadn't realised that condoms existed in 19__th__ century (in fact, they existed years before GWTW is set as I subsequently discovered) until Ondine referred to them in her wonderful "The Fall" – and so I researched it. I also came across the Comstock laws which banned contraception and literature relating to it in 29 or so states (I couldn't find out if it extended to the Southern states) in 1873. I think Rhett would have been very cautious about another child when his relationship with Scarlett is on tentative ground. One last thing – in the opening paragraphs of Chapter 44 – Rhett knows Scarlett has been up to something (maybe he hadn't quite figured that she had gone to see Hélène) but he realises that he too has to compromise and "drop" things rather than force an issue that probably isn't important. He is learning he doesn't have to win every battle._

Chapter 45

They arrived back at Wycliffe House on the Wednesday evening and, the following morning, they slept in late. They had one full day left in Charleston before they were due to catch the late afternoon train on the Friday, and as she dressed, once again in black, she felt a pang for her children. She had never been away from them for so long – not even when she had honeymooned with Rhett – and she missed them.

After breakfast, Rhett suggested that they ride out to his house on the Ashley River. "Our last day of privacy. We should make the most of it," he said, before he disappeared to ask Clarence to saddle up two horses.

They rode along the Battery, across some fields and then down the narrow path that led to the house. When they finally reached their destination, it was almost two o'clock. They tied up the horses under a tree and then sat in the shade eating the picnic that Mary had prepared for them, before they lay down, Rhett reading a book and Scarlett dozing, her head resting on his lap.

When she awoke, Rhett was nowhere to be seen. She yawned, stretched cat-like along the ground and rubbed her eyes. Then, she stood up and looked out onto the river expecting to see him fishing or even swimming. But he wasn't there.

She sat back on the blanket, lay down again and closed her eyes. The heat was making her intolerably sleepy but, just as she was about to fall into a slumber again, she heard his Indian-like tread behind her. She twisted round and saw him walking towards her, a couple of towels flung over his shoulder and wearing his ridiculous, three quarter length trousers.

"Scarlett, come swimming with me," Rhett said as he reached the edge of the blanket and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Hmmm?" she murmured, still feeling sleepy.

"Come swimming with me."

"Where?"

"Here," he said and she could tell by his face he was serious.

"Don't be silly Rhett! I haven't swum since I was a child."

"I'll hold you."

"What on earth will I wear?"

"Nothing?" He laughed when he saw her scowl. "Or strip down to your shimmy."

"Rhett!"

"No one will see you Scarlett. Except me. There isn't another house for at least a mile."

"Rhett, I'm not-"

"Please darling. Do it for me." Their eyes locked in a silent battle.

"But-"

"Indulge me, Scarlett," he said quietly.

"Indulge-"

"Years ago, I often thought of swimming with you here in the river. I don't know why. I just thought it would be romantic. It was one of my…fantasies." Her face unconsciously softened. She loved it when she got glimpses of his old infatuation with her. "I promise I won't let you drown. And it's such a hot day." She looked across the glistening water and then back at him.

"I would never have guessed that such timidity nestled underneath all your bravado," he teased when she still didn't say anything.

"I'm not timid, Rhett. It's just that it would be…indecent."

"How will it be indecent if I am the only one who will see you?"

"It just will be, Rhett," she replied. "I am sure Mother and Pa would turn in their graves." His eyebrows arched in that sardonic way of his. He seemed so insistent and the sun was so hot and the water looked so refreshing.

She sighed and flung her head back. "Alright then. But don't you dare breathe a word about this to anyone."

"You have my word," he said his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I am not sure that's worth much!" she replied irritated but when she looked at his face, she smiled. His grin was infectious, in fact, his whole mood was infectious. He seemed happier, more content, than she had seen him in a long time, perhaps ever. And he was more fun to be around, even more so than in the early days of their marriage. He didn't have any hint of the dark moods that had often been whipped up out of nowhere or the melancholy that had pervaded his soul after Bonnie had died. And when he made fun of her, it was good natured, and his way of encouraging her not to take herself too seriously.

She started unbuttoning her dress and then she felt his hands on her, unlacing her, helping her out of her clothing and in a few moments, she was standing before him, clad in only her chemise and drawers. He kissed her on her lips and then he whispered into her ear, even though only the birds could have heard. "Are you sure you don't want to take _everything_ off?"

She shook her head, and then he kissed her again and when she opened her eyes, he was looking hungrily at her. "We could just skip the swimming, Scarlett…" he murmured.

"Rhett!" she squealed, catching his drift and feigning indignation. "Not _here!_" He laughed again and then in a swift move, shed his shirt and started walking towards the water.

"Come on," he said, looking over his shoulder.

She watched him dive in – he was so graceful in the water - and then he swam to the edge, close to her. Hesitantly, she moved a few feet.

"Jump in. I'll catch you," he urged.

"I can't jump in. My hair will get wet." This was a bad idea. "How are we ever going to return to your mother's house, looking even partially respectable?"

"Don't worry Scarlett," and he laughed again. "I'll sneak you in."

She still didn't move.

"Come on, darling."

She moved to the water's edge and dipped her toes in. Then she sat down on the grass verge, and slowly submerged her legs. Rhett was treading water, watching her and then suddenly he reached up and dragged her in. She screamed, her arms and legs flailing and then the water lapped over her head.

"I'm going to drown," she said gasping for air as she rose to the surface before going under again. Rhett pulled her up, and she spluttered cool water over his face. "Put your arms around my neck," he said. "And breathe slowly." Somehow, he was holding her and treading water at the same time and she managed to regain her composure. He kissed her briefly on the lips, and then he swam a few feet with her still wrapped around him.

Her heart beat slowed as she became more secure in his arms and when he finally released her, she floated. "You see. It does come back to you. One doesn't forget how to swim." Scarlett smiled cautiously and then she paddled towards him, enjoying the feel of the cool water on her body.

A couple of fish swam past her, one brushing against her legs. The water wasn't very deep and she could see the bottom of the river bed – all mossy stones and rotting, broken branches. She had never done anything like this before – at least not since she had left her childhood behind – and it felt liberating. There was no one around and the only sound was that of her splashing, the cooing of birds and the scratching of crickets. It was peaceful, beautifully peaceful.

She flipped over onto her back and floated, allowing her black hair to create a halo around her head.

"Do you want to rebuild this house?" Scarlett asked as she moved closer towards him. "I'm not wholly opposed to living in Charleston. If that is what you want."

"Good God, no. I don't want to live in Charleston. I find it even more suffocating now in my forties than I did when I was twenty. No, I don't want to live here but I would like to visit more often than I have in the past. And spend more time with my mother. I want you to meet Rosemary, too. I think you will like her. I think you'll appreciate her practicality."

"So what are you going to do with this house?"

"Nothing. I haven't done anything with it for the last twenty odd years."

"We could rebuild it, Rhett, and come here in the summers. The position is perfect. It's private and not far from your mother. I bet Ella and Wade would love it here. They don't really feel as though Tara is theirs. Whenever we visit there, it's always overrun with their cousins."

"Actually, I've already brought them here. In June. Wade and I even camped out here one night – when Ella had chicken pox."

"Let's rebuild it, then," decided Scarlett. "It doesn't have to be anything grand. Just running water, some comfortable beds-"

"It's got water, Scarlett." He paused for a moment before he added, "And a bed."

"Well, then."

"Maybe. Although I quite like it as it is."

They swam a short way, to a part where Rhett could stand up, and then they swam back towards the house. Rhett got out of the river first before helping his wife out. He handed her a large towel and then they sat on the stumps of two tree trunks, drying off. After a while, Scarlett put her dress back on, dispensing with her corset - she would get dressed properly later – and then sat close to the outside stove as Rhett grilled some fish.

They ate whilst watching the sun set, talking about everything and nothing. When the sun finally disappeared, Scarlett yawned and tried to stand up. But Rhett's hands remained clasped round her waist. "Where are you going?" he whispered.

"To get properly dressed. I think we should make a move. It'll be dark before we even reach the main road if we are not careful." She stood up but Rhett immediately pulled her down again. She collapsed in his lap.

"Rhett!" she scolded. "We have to-"

"No, Scarlett. I want us to stay here tonight." He paused as he scanned her face. "I thought it would be quite romantic."

"What? Out here? I don't see the romance in that."

He smiled. "Or we can forsake a night under the stars and sleep inside." He gently smoothed her furrowed brow with his fingers and kissed her on the lips. Then, he stood up and picked his shoeless wife up in his arms. "I have some champagne inside, Scarlett. Swathed in ice. Although it's probably turned to water by now. I hadn't expected to be outside for _quite_ so long." She looked curiously at him. How had he managed to put champagne on ice, when he hadn't left her side since they had arrived back in Charleston? There had definitely not been ice strapped to his saddle when they had journeyed down to the river.

He caught her confusion and smiled. "Clarence is good for a lot of things, Scarlett. He…erm…might have helped me out here. And I also told him not to expect us back tonight." He kissed her again and then started walking, still holding her, into the house. They walked through a large but sparsely furnished room which Scarlett imagined must have been the kitchen at some point and then into the hallway. It had a high ceiling with a dusty chandelier hanging from the centre and a staircase with splintered wood and missing steps leading off it.

"You can't go upstairs," Rhett volunteered when he saw his wife's expression. "Or at least, not without a ladder. I have never needed to use more than a couple of rooms in the house so I haven't bothered to get the staircase fixed."

He turned left off the hallway, into another large room – probably at one time the parlour Scarlett surmised – and there, against the middle of the far wall, was a large mattress, made up with silk sheets and throws round it. Surrounding the mattress were several small candles, already burning.

"This is…" Scarlett's voice trailed off as she surveyed the scene and espied the bottle of champagne that was in a bucket on the mantelpiece. She looked back at her husband and smiled. "This is perfect darling," she said as she reached up to kiss him.

"Well, I'm not sure it's _perfect_ but I wanted our last night in Charleston to be special. Or at least different. There's never really been much…romance…in our relationship, Scarlett."

He walked over to the bed and placed her down on the covers. She rolled over on her side as she watched him pop the champagne cork and pour sparkling liquid into two cut glasses.

"Thank you, Rhett," Scarlett said as he handed her a glass. And in her mind, she wasn't just thanking him for the champagne, but the whole day, the last month. She took a sip, relishing the taste of the bubbles on her tongue, and then he slumped down next to her.

"There's a night gown under that pillow. Although, please don't put it on for me. I…rather….like…seeing…you…with…nothing…on," he said kissing her all the way up to her neck. He pushed her back onto the bed, her champagne slopping over the side of the glass. "Here, let me take that," he said and took the glass from her hand. He turned his back to her, put the glasses down and then started unbuckling his belt.

Scarlett stretched dreamily and tucked her hand under her pillow. She felt the silk gown and then she felt a small box next to it. She twisted her body round so that she was lying on her front and pulled the box out from its hiding place.

"What's this?" she asked, as she handled the small, leather, square box.

He glanced over his shoulder, having removed his trousers.

"Oh," he said. "That was meant for later."

She looked at him, puzzled.

He shrugged. "You can open it now if you want to." She didn't need a second bidding – she had never been able to hold herself back from opening presents.

She pushed herself up on her elbows as she felt Rhett's weight move across the mattress towards her. He was clad now in only his drawers and she felt him watching her keenly.

"Open it," he urged quietly, when she ran her fingers across the grooves of the leather.

She clicked it open. Inside, on a bed of cream velvet, was a large emerald ring. It was undoubtedly the most exquisite gem she had ever seen, even more breathtaking than the diamond in her engagement ring. It was a pure, transparent verdant hue – the colour of her eyes. She took it out of the box and held it up, allowing it to glitter in the candlelight.

"Rhett…I…don't quite know what to say. It's beautiful." She sat up on the bed and twisted it round in her hands. Then, she tried to put it on her right hand but it wouldn't go over her knuckle. "It won't fit," she murmured.

"Yes it will, honey. Here, let me," and he held his hand out as she placed it in his palm. Then, slowly he took her left hand and he placed the ring on her third finger.

"But…is this meant to be an engagement ring, Rhett?"

"Well, unless you want to get divorced and then marry me again, I am not sure that's the proper nomenclature. But-"

He stopped abruptly, breathed in deeply and shook his head. "That's not entirely true," he said quietly. "This was always _meant _to be your engagement ring. It was an old family ring, my grandmother's and I had it reset and resized during the War but then you went and married Frank and when I finally did propose, it didn't exactly turn out how I had imagined. Or rather hoped."

"What do you mean? I said yes didn't I?"

"The whole proposal was rather rushed, Scarlett, wasn't it? I had always planned to go away for a few months – to get away from you and seeing you with Frank –but then Frank died and I knew I had to act quickly. My proposal certainly wasn't the romantic ideal I had envisaged." She looked up at him, trying to scrutinise him in the dim light. He had used that word again – romantic – and it reminded her of his assertion on the night when he had left her. _If you had only let me, I could have loved you as gently and as tenderly as ever a man loved a woman._ A warm feeling grew inside her and she dimpled.

"But you reminded me that you didn't love me," he continued. "You were quite brutal about it and I felt the spectres of all of Charles, Frank and Ashley in Miss Pitty's library on that evening. And you didn't really give me much hope that you might come to love me…except…except when I kissed you. Then, I thought, _maybe._ Maybe, I could make you fall in love with me. If you…desired me…then perhaps, some sort of love could come out of that." He stopped for a moment and caught her chin in his hands and looked steadily into her eyes. "What has happened to your engagement ring Scarlett? I don't think I've seen you wear it since I saw you in April?"

She tried to avoid his swarthy gaze. There was something _knowing_ about how he looked at her. For the second time, she wondered if Uncle Henry had told him her secret. She wavered between honesty and not wanting to ruin the night. Perhaps he wouldn't be angry. He didn't seem angry. Should she confess now or wait until they were back in Atlanta, when they were on her turf?

"I just…well you see Rhett, it's beautiful but it is…I just find it a bit big to wear. And…" She paused for a moment and averted her eyes from his. She would tell him now, get it over and done with. "Rhett, I…I…sold it."

"Oh," he said.

"I got a good price for it," she added quickly.

"I see."

"Several thousand dollars, Rhett."

"Hmmm."

"I needed to secure my future, Rhett, and I began to feel uncomfortable about wearing it."

"Had I not left you well provided for?"

"Yes, Rhett. But I…well…I didn't want any of your money. I had told you that. And I wanted to stand on my own two feet, without your money, without you thinking that I needed you in any way."

"But wasn't the proceeds from selling a ring I had given you, my money?"

"Well…not quite. I felt it was more rightfully mine than the money you left in the bank for me. And," she swallowed as she prepared to illuminate him on her other reason. "I suppose I also wanted to…hurt you. Even though, really, I loved you."

He moved them, then, so that they were lying down on the mattress and he was holding her. He began to stroke her hair. "Well, if we are in for confessions tonight, I admit that I didn't buy it with the purest or kindest of intentions. You had rather wounded my pride when you couldn't even _pretend_ that you loved me when I proposed to you. And I didn't want to give you something that you hadn't asked for. You asked for a _diamond ring_ and a _great big one_ at that. So if I had given you this," he said, twirling the emerald ring on her finger, "You might have been disappointed and not gone through with your pledge to marry me."

"I wish you _had_ given me this ring, Rhett," she said, marvelling at its colour. "I might have realised then that you loved me."

He snorted derisorily. "Scarlett, you are rather obtuse about certain things and I now know that nothing less than me telling you I loved you would have opened your eyes to the real reason I wanted to marry you. Besides, I didn't want to risk your wrath if I presented you with a ring that contained a smaller diamond than anyone else you knew."

"But…" She stopped her protestation, knowing he spoke the truth.

"Not many women have eyes as green as yours. And it was the ring my grandfather gave to my grandmother."

"I didn't think you were sentimental, Rhett," she said. He shrugged and continued staring at her. "You mean your pirate grandfather?" she asked.

Rhett chuckled. "Yes, although I might have exaggerated the pirate bit. I think he was more a rogue who liked to sail."

"A bit like you then," Scarlett replied.

He grinned. "I can get you a diamond ring if you would-"

"No, no, Rhett. This is perfect. I don't need any more diamonds." She leaned towards him and kissed him. "I meant what I said in April. I don't care if I am as poor as a church mouse. As long as I have you." She searched his face, trying to determine what he really thought of her, whether he loved her, yet. Then, boldly, she said. "I love you Rhett. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. It just took me a long time to realise it."

He caught her face in his hands and then pulled her closer to him. "I know you do, Scarlett. I might have doubted how steadfast your love was back in October but I don't doubt it anymore."

She nodded slowly, feeling tears fill her eyes. "You're going to make me cry."

"I'll kiss away your tears," he said and he wrapped his arms tighter around her. "I tried to live without you, Scarlett. For six months. I tried but I couldn't. I felt as though I was existing, not living."

"That's…that's what your…your mother said," hiccoughed Scarlett as he pushed her down on the bed and started stroking her hair, inhaling its scent. She sighed softly, contented and hopeful. Tomorrow, they would begin the final part of their long journey home.

"Scarlett?" Rhett whispered.

"Hmmm?" she murmured. She wanted the night to go on forever. Just the two of them.

"I was wrong back in October."

Her eyes flickered open, suddenly alert, wondering what part of his October speech he was going to recant.

"What part?" she said quietly.

"I said that you were brutal to those who love you."

"Yes, it wasn't a nice thing to hear," she sniffed. That hadn't been the worst thing though. The words that had really cut her were those he had uttered when he had told her that she had used up all his love.

"I was wrong though. You're not brutal to those _you_ love. If you love someone, then you do it whole heartedly, fiercely, loyally. Like you did your father, your mother, Mammy. Even Ashley."

"And you, Rhett. I love _you_." She gently removed the arms that encased her and rolled over so that she was on top of him. She was staring into the dark ebony pools that made up his own eyes. She couldn't be sure but they looked moist, watery. Was her husband crying? Had he been crying? He blinked and looked away and then he shifted his body to the edge of the mattress, reached across for the champagne bottle and poured them each two more glasses.

As he handed her one, he whispered. "I think I'm ready to go back home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N So nearly there. I think Scarlett has to open herself up first, before he completely does. She's the braver one really. Sorry for the sentimentally about the emerald engagement ring – I hope he didn't drift in to corn (C122 – if you are out there – did it? You told me you felt this story was drifting into a big pile of sloppy goo.) Now on to Atlanta – I've missed the children as much as Scarlett has been._

_Oh – and I always felt Rhett was rather harsh at the end of GWTW and stretched some facts. She wasn't brutal to __all__ those people that loved her – __if__ she also loved them. And I like to think that she would have had a lovely, close, mutually adoring relationship with Melly if Melly had lived. _

_Not perfect, am sure there are some typos but my aim is to finish this by mid-June. I am going to be doing a lot of travelling on a plane again – which is my best place to write. I don't think there will be any more updates to One Night again, until I finish this._

_Thank you to everyone who reviews. Even if you have drifted off it – and won't follow it any more – I don't mind you telling me that. And Ifeelmad – thank you for your copious reviews and your pointers re grammar and my lack of commas. I need to edit this story once it is finished._


	46. Chapter 46

_Sorry for the delay in publishing this. As I have got closer to the end, it has been harder to write. And my husband is completely bored me with me writing and obsessing over fan fic, so I do have to plough on and finish this sooner rather than later._

Chapter 46

"Mother! Uncle Rhett! You're home!"

Ella, who had been sitting making daisy chains in the front garden with Dilcey's daughter, Pansy, elicited her shrill salutations and then, knocking over a glass of Mrs Merriwether's famed lemonade, bounded up towards her parents, who were stepping out of the carriage that they had taken from the station.

Scarlett crouched down, ready to sweep her daughter up in an embrace, but instead, Ella leapt into Rhett's arms, all giggles and billowing skirts. Scarlett stood up and watched and then, when her daughter finally turned her attention to her, she kissed her forehead and rustled her auburn curls.

"We thought you were coming back tomorrow!" exclaimed Ella, breathlessly. "Mammy said we could make a cake tomorrow with vanilla icing. But you're back _now_ so I am not sure we can make a cake. I'll have to ask Mammy. Aunt India and Grandma have been teaching me how to bake cakes, Mother. They said that when I am older, I will be good enough to own my own bakery! Wade's not here. He's at the river with Mr Picard and Raul and Beau."

Scarlett smiled as her daughter stopped for breath and then she studied her daughter critically.

"Where's your hat, Ella?"

Ella felt on top of her head and then shrugged her shoulders.

"You know I don't like you being in the sun without it. You have to protect your fair-"

"Darling," Rhett cajoled lightly, twisting Ella onto the side of his hip. She was really too big to be carried. "Ella and I will find her hat later. Let's just get inside. It's too hot to be standing out here for long."

Scarlett sighed and tucked her daughter's wayward, damp hair behind her ears. "Your hair needs combing through, too."

Ella ignored her.

"Did you bring me any presents, Mother?"

"Like mother, like daughter," Rhett said as he winked at his wife.

"Did _you_, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked.

"Well, unless there are any other eight year old girls living here, I think there might be some presents," Rhett replied.

Ella's eyes widened and she flung her arms back round her stepfather's neck and kissed him. "Can I have them now? I've been very good. You should ask Grandma. And Uncle Henry. And Wade. Please?"

"Ella! Do you think we can get into the house first, before we start handing out presents?" Scarlett gently scolded, feeling slightly put out that her daughter was more excited about receiving presents than seeing her.

"Sorry, Mother." Then she tugged at Rhett's cravat. "Uncle Rhett, I have a secret. But I am not allowed to tell you. Grandma asked me not to."

Rhett laughed and kissed her forehead before turning to the coachman, asking him to wait for the servants to come and collect the luggage. Then, he took his wife's arm and linked it through his, whilst still carrying Ella, before the three of them began to walk slowly up the path that divided the large lawn into two.

It was only then that Scarlett properly noticed the throng that was milling in her front garden. There must have been at least thirty people, all now looking at the returning couple.

Scarlett tightened her grip on Rhett's arm, suddenly feeling self-conscious with the attention and wondering why _quite_ so many people were on her property. Were they really all customers of the bakery?

She walked a few more steps, and then she saw a stall – or rather one of her tables from the kitchen - at the right hand side of her mansion, underneath a couple of oak trees, a gingham table cloth thrown over it, and beyond that, a large, canvas canopy with seats and tables underneath.

Scarlett inhaled deeply and bristled at the intrusion. She vaguely recalled telling Maybelle that her mother could set up a stall in the front garden, but a tea room, too! And her beautiful rose garden, that was now fully in the shade! What had happened to her roses? They looked neglected and half trampled on! Didn't everyone know that roses needed at least six to eight hours of sun a day?

Rhett squeezed her hand, as if reading her discomfort. "Just smile, Scarlett," he whispered. "Everyone's watching us. Even if they are pretending not to."

She tried to unfurrow her brow and forced her lips up at the edges, as she nodded to various familiar faces. They passed Sarah Whiting and Emma's mother, Evelyn Burr, and then, a few moments later, they were next to Mrs Meade. Mrs Meade who, since the carriage had pulled up, unlike many of the other bakery customers, had made no pretence that she was doing anything other than staring at the Butlers.

Rhett stopped, and tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, Mrs Meade."

"Good afternoon Captain Butler. Good afternoon, Scarlett," she replied and for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, her disapproving veneer seemed absent. "Welcome back. I hear, from your mother, Captain Butler, that you and Scarlett have been in Europe." She seemed eager to continue the conversation. Another first, thought Scarlett.

"Yes, indeed. I thought it was high time that I fulfilled my promise to my wife to take her to Paris," Rhett said.

"Paris! How wonderful!" exclaimed Caroline Meade, her gaiety, a little forced. "I always wanted to go to Europe. Dr Meade wanted to take me after he retired but the War rather put paid to those ideas."

"There's time still, Mrs Meade-"

"Oh no, Captain Butler. Our time has passed. And all our money-" She stopped and cleared her throat and then, took a handkerchief out of her reticule, as though she was stalling for time.

"There have been quite a few changes since I was last here in June," Rhett said, as he turned his body round and took in the whole vista.

Mrs Meade's eyes followed him and she nodded. "I'm sure Scarlett told you of her generous offer to Dolly to set up her bakery at your house. Dolly was more concerned about losing her business than she was about losing the use of her leg and then Scarlett quite… _magnificently_…stepped in."

"I only did what anyone else would have done in my position, Mrs Meade," Scarlett interjected, quoting what was, fast becoming, an her oft repeated remark. "I'm pleased it's all worked out."

"It's more than _worked out_,my dear. The bakery has never been busier! It's quite extraordinary. And after your mother, Captain Butler, suggested that Mrs Merriwether start serving afternoon tea, all of Atlanta has been flocking here! Everyone has been quite run off their feet!"

"And I've been helping!" chimed in Ella, who had squirmed out of Rhett's hold and was now standing between her parents, holding her Mother's hand.

"You have, my dear," said Mrs Meade as she patted the little girl on her head. "Although I am afraid that the outside tea room hasn't done your roses much good, being in the shade of the canopy. When it's taken down, they'll thrive again, I am sure. Or I'll arrange for some new roses to be replanted."

"I'm sure the roses will be fine, Mrs Meade," Rhett said.

"Well…" Her voice trickled off as she glanced over to the temporary tea room and the rather sorrowful looking flowers.

"I hadn't _quite _expected an outside tea room to be set up," Scarlett commented. Mrs Meade shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, yes…but…You should really speak to Mrs Butler about it, Scarlett. It was her idea."

"Where _is_ my mother?" Rhett asked.

"Inside. She's running the kitchen today. She's been quite a Godsend to Dolly over the last few weeks. Although we've all been helping out. Including this little one," Mrs Meade said as she patted Ella on the head.

"And what about your school work, Ella? Has Mrs Brickston been here, _at all_."

"Yes, Mother. I've only helped Grandma and Aunt India in the afternoons."

They moved on to the stall, a few feet away. India was standing still, her arms folded, waiting to greet them.

"Welcome back, Scarlett," India said. "Good afternoon, Captain Butler."

"Good afternoon, India," Rhett greeted.

"Hello, India," Scarlett said, before she leaned in to kiss her. She might not have undertaken such a show of forced affection if there had been fewer busybodies around to witness the obvious truce. Even after almost a year, Scarlett still felt it was incumbent on her to prove that the maliciousness that had run through their relationship ever since Scarlett had married Charles Hamilton, had all but evaporated.

"Aunt India has been allowing me to help on the stall today as Grandma has been in the kitchen," Ella said as she broke her grip from her mother's hand to go and stand behind the stall.

India affectionately tousled Ella's curls whilst Scarlett looked on, bemused. India had never taken an interest in her children, not really. She was even dismissive about Wade, even though he was related to her. What had happened in the six weeks she had been away?

"I see our house has been rather turned into a fairground," mused Rhett.

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry about that Captain Butler."

"Oh, I didn't mean it as a criticism. I rather like its…erm…chaos. The house finally feels as though it has life in it."

"We had all been expecting you back tomorrow-"

"So we've been hearing. But you should know by now, India, that I've always liked keeping everyone on their toes. You should ask Scarlett."

India blushed, unused to speaking to someone as masculine as Rhett Butler for more than a moment.

"Well…the bakery isn't open on a Sunday," stammered India. "So it'll be quiet tomorrow. Less chaotic."

"It doesn't matter, India," said Scarlett. "As Rhett says, it makes a pleasant change to see the house… busy. And I probably need to thank you for helping to keep Ella out of mischief."

India reached into her pocket for her handkerchief to wipe away little beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. "She's been no trouble at all. A good worker. She'll do well when she's older," and she smiled down at Scarlett's daughter. "I didn't manage to see you before you went to Charleston, Scarlett. I was sorry to hear from Aunt Pitty about Carreen. It must have been quite a shock. So sudden. She was always such a kind, thoughtful soul, even before she went to the nunnery."

"Thank you," said Scarlett.

Then, India leaned towards Scarlett and in a lower tone, said, "Maybelle started having her baby this morning so I offered to take care of the stall today. I've been helping out quite a bit over the last few weeks and it has given me something to do, whilst Beau is at school. And Mrs…" She stopped and for some unknown reason, blushed. Then, she dabbed the corner of her handkerchief on her brow. "Mrs Butler is in the kitchen, making sure the breads don't burn. You seem to be cut from the same cloth Scarlett. You and Mrs Butler. She has worked wonders with the bakery. Made it even more successful than Mrs Merriwether could ever have imagined. And if she's not in the kitchen, helping Mrs Merriwether, she's been out here, serving the customers with me." India's thin lips went up at the corners and Scarlett smiled, too. After a lifetime of knowing her, India Wilkes had finally offered her a proper compliment.

"Miss Scarlett! Miss Scarlett!"

All three adults, and Ella, turned towards the house, as Mammy's raspy voice rose above the general melee. Mammy galloped, ungainly, down the path, her wise eyes like saucers and a wide grin etched broadly on her face. A flour dust cloud followed her.

"Miss Scarlett! Mista Rhett! You is home! We don 'spect you till tomorrow!" and, momentarily forgetting her station, she enveloped Scarlett in a broad hug. Then, she turned to Rhett and, forgetting that India was standing by them, said. "And you brung Mista Rhett, too. I tole the children! I tole them!" she said gleefully.

"Mammy, we haven't baked Mother and Uncle Rhett a cake! You said we could bake one for when they got home!" Ella cried out.

"Ahs sure Miss Eleanor find something in der kitchen, Miss Ella fer today. Now, let's get everyone inside. Ah mak some lemonade an you kan all cool down."

Mammy took Ella's hand and started walking back towards the house, Rhett and Scarlett following. As they were a few feet away from the front steps, Scarlett felt his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him just as he leaned in towards her and kissed her lips. She giggled. "In front of all these people, Rhett?"

"Yes," he said. "In front of all these people. And if we were on our own, I would carry you over the threshold. But that might be a bit too much. We don't want people to think that _everything_ is fixed between us, otherwise, the Old Guard will have nothing left to gossip about."

They walked up to the open, front door. Pork stood on the threshold of the mansion, resplendent in his best finery. "Welcome home Mista Rhett, Miss Scarlett," he said as he made a sweeping bow. He turned to his mistress, beaming broadly. "Dilcey tole us all that you would be home today. No one believed her. 'Cept me."

"It's good to be back, Pork," Scarlett said, as she patted him on the arm. Then, she took off her bonnet, relishing the flood of cooler air to her crown, and handed it to Mammy. Moments later, Reena, Minnie and William, a recent addition to the household, came up behind with the luggage.

"Ahs tak yer luggage up to yer room, Captain Butler," said William.

"To _deir_ bedroom," Mammy corrected. When the man looked confused, Mammy clarified. "De largest bedroom."

Scarlett felt unwelcome colour rise to her cheeks at the connotations but Rhett merely laughed at Mammy's manipulation.

When they had finally stepped inside the house, Scarlett's eyes scanned the new hallway, and the half a dozen of rooms that fed off it, all (apart from the library) white-washed walls, with splashes of pale citrus colours – drapes, cushions, chair coverings. She ran her fingers down the mint silk of a newly upholstered chair that was in the hallway – material that she had chosen but which had not been utilised before she had hurried off to Charleston and then she saw the beautiful wrought iron mirror which she had ordered from Marietta to replace the gilt one. The whole house had been stripped of its velvets and crimsons and heaviness. And its unhappiness.

"I think I might finally be able to breathe in this house, Scarlett," Rhett said softly, as he, too, surveyed the new surroundings.

"De workmen, dey have been working every day. Up 'til las week. Miss Eleanor, she been makin' sure they don' tak a break," Mammy volunteered. "All de rooms have been done 'cept fer yer bedroom an' de nursery. Miss Eleanor, she help Master Wade choose new furniture fer his bedroom."

As if on cue, Miss Eleanor walked out, her apron covered in baking ingredients. "Darlings, darlings," she exclaimed hurriedly as she paced towards her son and daughter-in-law. She kissed them both and squeezed Scarlett extra tightly. "You're finally home! And you both look so well! I was just overseeing the last batch of bread for today and then we'll be able to properly catch up. I've had to step in for Dolly. Dolly is with Maybelle – Maybelle's baby has started coming and she left me in charge with Dilcey."

Scarlett scrutinised her mother-in-law who seemed positively glowing. Work suited her and yet in Charleston, she had seemed tired, almost _bored_, of her charitable exploits, which were less strenuous than running a bakery. Perhaps it was the change in scenery.

"I hope you don't mind, my dear, Wade not being here to greet you," Eleanor continued. "But I couldn't quite remember whether you were due back today or tomorrow. It was all rather hurried, when I left you in Charleston. So I told Wade he could go to the creek with Beau and Raul and Fanny's son, Tommy. Jack Picard is with them. They should be back by six o'clock. In time for supper." So it was _Jack_ that had taken the boys, not René, as she had automatically assumed. And he was still around in Atlanta. Why was he still here? Didn't he have businesses in Louisiana to oversee?

"Of course I don't mind!" Scarlett replied.

"Grandma," piped Ella, breaking Scarlett's train of thought. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Tell us what?" asked Scarlett. She eyed her mother-in-law suspiciously as Eleanor glanced conspiratorially at her granddaughter.

"Nothing, my dear," said Eleanor, too quickly to be believable. Then, she winked at Ella.

"Oh…I…see," laboured Ella, nodding and smiling delightedly. Scarlett looked at her husband who had seemingly, too, noticed the furtive glances exchanged between his mother and stepdaughter, but he didn't say anything.

Just then, India came through the front door into the hallway. "Mrs Butler. I need five more loaves of bread and three of those special pastries you made earlier this morning. They are for Mrs Burr."

"Coming right up, India," replied Eleanor. "Ella, why don't you come into the kitchen and you can take them out to your aunt India."

"Can we make the cake?"

"Oh darling, I am not sure we have time. Perhaps tomorrow. Come along, now."

Ella looked at her mother.

"What about my presents…" Ella groaned, impatiently. "Mother, you said I could-"

"Ella, darling," Scarlett interrupted sternly, trying to stop the bubbles of irritation rising inside her. "We need to unpack and find them. Do as your grandmother asks you, please? There will be plenty of time for presents later."

Eleanor held out her hand and, after a moment's hesitation as she weighed up the likelihood of winning the battle with her mother, Ella willingly took it and skipped alongside Eleanor to the back of the house.

"Oh, Scarlett," Eleanor said just before she turned the corner of the hallway. "I invited your Uncle Henry for supper tonight."

"Uncle Henry?" Scarlett queried, but the older woman had already disappeared into the kitchen before Scarlett was able to question why Henry had been invited.

Scarlett put her reticule down on a chair and then walked into the parlour. She immediately retreated.

"Mother of God!" whispered Scarlett hoarsely. There were three strangers taking tea in her recently refurbished parlour, sipping on tea.

"Oh Scarlett! I'm so sorry!" India said quickly. "Mrs Williamson was feeling rather faint in the heat today and Mrs Butler suggested that, for today only, she take her tea in the parlour. She has been a very loyal customer."

"But it's my parlour! I can just about stomach the…tea shop…on the front lawn, but strangers taking their tea in my house!"

"I'm sorry, Scarlett. We should have checked with you first," India said, suddenly looking guilty.

"How could you have done that when I was in Europe?"

"Darling," cooed Rhett, reading his wife's consternation. "We can re-decorate it once the bakery is back up and running."

"But it's only just been redecorated-"

"I am sure Mrs Merriwether will pay for any damage, Scarlett. But it was only this one time. Well…apart from…" India meekly cast her eyes to the floor. "There was one other time, but that was only Mrs Meade and Mrs Burr."

"Practically your relations, Scarlett," Rhett teased, softly. Scarlett arched her eyebrows at her husband in silent reply.

"And now that you are back, it won't happen again," continued India. "The tea room in the garden has been a nice little money earner for Mrs Merriwether. It will help her cover the extra costs of decorating the bakery as there is going to be a shortfall from what she expects to receive from the insurers. But now that you are back and the house will be used properly again as a home, I'll make sure no one else comes inside."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett was in her bedroom fixing her hair for dinner, when Wade returned. Rhett was downstairs in the library and she heard him speak to Jack but, however much she strained her ears, she couldn't make out what they were saying. Curious, she opened her door but she was too late. The front door closed and Jack had left.

She strode to the top of the staircase to greet her son, who had grown at least an inch since she had last seen him. His face had a golden tan to it and its features were beginning to lose their childish softness. His hair, bleached by the sun was mussed from the breeze and didn't look like it had seen a comb for a day or so. Miss Eleanor had obviously allowed him as much a free reign as she had Ella.

"Hello, darling," she greeted, when he reached the top. Rhett was closely behind him.

"Hello, Mother," he said as she leaned in to kiss him. His cheeks were hot and he dragged his hand across his brow to try and stop sweat dripping off his face. "I wouldn't have gone out today, if I had known you were coming back this afternoon. But we all thought that you were coming back tomorrow. Except Dilcey and Pork. _They_ thought you might be coming back today." He paused briefly and then his shy eyes met her own. "I've missed you, Mother."

"Oh, darling," Scarlett choked. Had he really missed her? She held out our arms and he walked into them and hugged her. "And I've missed you, Wade. And I am sorry that I was away for so long. But…well…your Uncle Rhett and I…you see…"

"Mother!" Wade exclaimed bashfully, as he wriggled out of her embrace. "You don't need to tell me everything!"

Rhett was now at the top of the stairs and ruffled his stepson's hair. Wade turned to Rhett. "Uncle Rhett, can we go riding tomorrow? I want to show you how well I can ride Red Hunter!"

"Red Hunter? Wade darling, you know I don't like you-"

"Grandma said I could ride him-"

"But Wade, I-"

"Scarlett darling, let's discuss this later and then we can make a decision." Rhett then turned to Wade. "Of course we can, son. First thing in the morning."

Wade grinned warmly at his stepfather.

Scarlett shook her head in defeat.

"Please go and get changed for supper, Wade. You're late back and Uncle Henry will be around shortly. Your grandmother has invited him for supper."

"He's been coming to supper most evenings, Mother," Wade said.

"Has he?" Scarlett asked. "Well, hurry along then. You know he doesn't have much patience for tardiness, especially when it comes to eating."

Wade looked strangely at his mother, almost as though he was trying to stifle a giggle. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes, Mother. Don't worry."

Scarlett smiled. "We'll see you downstairs then."

She watched her son walk down the corridor to his bedroom and then she walked back to her room with her husband. Rhett opened the door for her but just before she crossed the threshold, she heard Wade's footsteps stop. She looked up along the long corridor as she felt her son's eyes on her back. It was as though he was watching to check that his mother and stepfather really were, after all these years, going into the same bedroom. Then, his serious face broadened into a large, almost knowing, smile, before he turned round and disappeared into his own room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry Hamilton arrived at the Butler residence at precisely half past six. Rhett handed him a whisky as he was led into the parlour and then the three adults talked whilst the children played a game of chequers in the corner. Eleanor was running late after spending almost the entire day in the kitchen. "I have to bathe quickly and rinse my hair," she had told Scarlett as they had passed on the staircase. "I can't have your uncle see my like this or smell me like this. He wouldn't know what to think."

As Rhett poured him a second whisky, Henry turned to Scarlett. "I bumped into old man Merriwether on my way over here. Dolly should be back in charge on Monday. Maybelle had her baby this afternoon. Another girl."

"How lovely!" Scarlett said. "What have they named her?"

"We didn't get to that detail, Scarlett. I'm sure we'll all be hearing soon enough. Anyway, Dolly got news yesterday that the insurance company have finally agreed to pay out on the insurance. Can you believe they suspected arson at one point? Well, she soon put them straight on that but it rather delayed things. René and his cousin, Jack, have got the builders all lined up. I expect that the Merriwether clan will be out of your hair by Christmas, maybe even by Thanksgiving. With a bit of luck."

Scarlett smiled. "It might be nice to have our house back to ourselves. I hadn't quite appreciated that India had decided to set up a tea house in my front garden."

"That was Eleanor's idea. And it's been a huge success although I am sure that it is in part down to people's seemingly insatiable desire to take a peek into your life, Scarlett."

The staircase creaked as footsteps descended and there, almost ethereal in a dove grey evening gown, stood Eleanor Butler. She had teased her hair into an elaborate up do and was wearing some beautiful pearl drop earrings and a four strand, pearl choker. She reminded Scarlett of the pictures she had seen in England of their elegant Princess of Wales.

"Good evening, everyone," she said as she swept into the parlour. She beamed extra broadly at Henry and then walked over to the children, who had been sitting quietly in the parlour, playing a game of chequers.

"I want to sit on your lap," Ella said, as Eleanor took a chair next to Ella.

"Of course, darling."

"Is it time yet, Grandma?" asked Ella, as she clambered onto the welcoming lap. Scarlett looked at her youngest child and then at Wade who was suddenly glaring at his sister.

"Not quite, sweetheart," replied Eleanor and then she whispered something into Ella's ear, inaudible to the rest of the room.

When they finally sat down for supper, Scarlett and Rhett talked of Paris and London, whilst Eleanor told them about the bakery and the gossip in the neighbourhood.

Then, when the first course was being cleared and Henry and Rhett had broken off into a separate conversation about a business deal, Eleanor turned to Scarlett and remarked on the emerald ring she was wearing.

"It rather took my husband a long time to give it to me," Scarlett replied. "I don't know anyone else who had to wait almost eight years for their correct engagement ring."

"Aah, but the wait was worth it. It matches your eyes perfectly." Eleanor sipped on her wine. "I have a feeling that my mother-in-law would have heartily approved of you wearing it. You have the same gumption and are about the only woman I know who can handle a Butler as a husband!"

After the main course had been served, Scarlett turned the conversation to her children.

"How has school been so far this term, Wade?"

"Fine, Mother. We are learning algebra and have at least five lessons a week in French."

"Good. I hope you take after your Uncle Rhett with French, rather than me. I am afraid that, even though your grandmother was French, I am quite hopeless at speaking it. Maybe next year, we can go to Paris in the summer and you can practice the language on real French people. I think you will like the place."

"Can I go too, Mother?" Ella asked. She had abandoned her food and was fidgeting at the table, evidently bored and almost jittery from the evening conversation.

"Of course you can, Ella. We can all go. Maybe even your grandmother, Eleanor, can come too."

Ella's eyes widened. "Yes! Oh please! And Uncle Henry as well!"

"Well, if Uncle Henry _wants_ to come and can tear himself away from his legal papers for a few weeks."

"But now that they are married-" Ella stopped abruptly, gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

All eyes swivelled to the youngest person at the table and then to Eleanor and Henry.

"Married?" Scarlett stuttered, as Wade glanced from his mother to his sister and shot the latter a disapproving, almost apoplectic, look. Ella's eyes suddenly welled up and her face went blotchy, as though she was about to cry.

"Mama?" questioned Rhett. "Henry?"

Eleanor's cheeks flushed a perfect pink as Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Eleanor?" said Henry. "Maybe you should…"

Eleanor put her cutlery down and stared at her son. "It's true. We are married. We got married a couple of weeks ago."

"And I went to the wedding, Mother!" exclaimed Ella proudly. "My first wedding. I wore my new green dress!"

"The first wedding you _remember_," muttered Scarlett quietly – Ella had been present at her own wedding to Rhett, even if she had only been a baby.

"Couldn't you have waited for us to get back from Europe?" asked Scarlett, suddenly feeling hurt.

"Oh, darling! We didn't want any fuss. It was just us, the children and Beau, India and Ashley. We needed two witnesses, and we wanted the witnesses to keep quiet about the ceremony, until you and Rhett got back. I know we should have waited but-"

"I don't see why you couldn't have waited," Scarlett said. "I didn't even know you were _engaged_."

"At our age, we thought you might think it was all rather silly…"

"But couldn't you have at least told us you were engaged?" Scarlett persisted.

"Well, we didn't really have an engagement, did we Henry?" Eleanor said, trying to look to her new husband to help her out of a difficult situation.

"No, we didn't. We just sort of decided. I guess I owe you an engagement ring, Eleanor."

"But why couldn't you have told us?" Scarlett repeated.

"Maybe I was worried that my future stepson would try and persuade me that marriage was a bad idea. He's never been a strong proponent of it," Henry said.

Rhett snorted in laughter. "On the contrary, Henry, I think that, after all these years, I might finally be able to recommend marriage. It's not so very bad if you marry the right person." He stood up and walked round to his mother and kissed her on both cheeks and then he held out his hand to Henry. "Congratulations, Henry. How odd to find myself acquiring a stepfather in my advanced years. So who else knows that the most confirmed bachelor in all of Georgia has finally relinquished his crown?"

From underneath his whiskers, Scarlett could see his lips make a crescent shape, before drawing straight again. "Nobody, except the children. And Ashley and India. They were our witnesses."

"Good God. Does this marriage mean that I am related to Mr Wilkes? Does your marriage now make Ashley my stepcousin?" Rhett said and though he smiled, his eyes didn't.

"Rhett! I hope you are joking. What on earth have you got against Ashley?" Eleanor chastised.

Scarlett gulped. Did Miss Eleanor really not know or suspect _anything_? She looked at her husband and heard him take a sharp breath and then he seemed to grit his teeth. If he had been sitting next to her – instead of standing – she would have kicked him to say something. Apologise at his bad joke. She didn't want the spectre of Ashley emerging tonight. Not their first night back in Atlanta.

"Rhett's got nothing against Ashley, Miss Eleanor," Scarlett found herself saying, when the silence, and the looks exchanged between Henry and Rhett, threatened to derail the homecoming. "Other than old fashioned jealousy. You see, he was an old beau from my childhood, growing up on the plantation next to Tara. And he was about the only old beau of mine that didn't die in the War. But Ashley's been practically Rhett's brother-in-law since Rhett married me." Scarlett tossed her napkin down onto the table and stood up, continuing to the divert the attention of the new bride away from her simmering son. "Well, I think your marriage is wonderful news, even if I am not one of the first people to know. You're now doubly related to me, Miss Eleanor, Uncle Henry. And we should throw a party to celebrate!" exclaimed Scarlett. "I'll ring the bell for Pork to bring in some champagne. We should have a toast"

"A party?" Ella exclaimed. "Can I go, Mother?"

"No Ella, you aren't old enough but if you are good, I'll let you stay up long enough to say hello to the guests."

"Can I go?" Wade asked.

Scarlett sighed. She was suddenly transported back to that April day over thirteen years ago, when Carreen had pleaded with Ellen to be allowed to attend the Wilkes' ball.

"Maybe for a little bit-"

"That's not fair!" exclaimed Ella. Oh, how history repeated itself, mused Scarlett, although Ella wasn't quite as gracious as her aunt, Carreen, had been.

"Ella, he's older than you-"

"A party would be wonderful, my dear," Eleanor interrupted and then she murmured to Ella, "You can help me decide what to wear and maybe we can buy you a new dress."

"We'll need some time to get the invitations out but we don't want to leave it too late to announce your wedding. How about two weeks today?" Scarlett suggested.

"That's Uncle Henry's birthday, Mother. The same day as my father's was," Wade volunteered, enthusiastically.

"You're right, Wade," piped in Eleanor. "I have our wedding certificate to prove it. He'll be sixty eight, too."

"Now, Eleanor, do you intend to reveal all my secrets?" Henry said gruffly to his bride.

"Possibly, darling," she replied impishly. "It will keep you on your best behaviour." They exchanged a look which made Rhett laugh – perhaps out of embarrassment that his mother could be so coquettish in her silver years.

"We'll need to get the invitations written and delivered in the next couple of days. And the food ordered. We should tell Pork, Dilcey and Mammy so that they can help with the preparations." Rhett said.

"I think they might already know," replied Eleanor quietly.

"How?" asked Scarlett, a pang of hurt again washing over her. "Are Rhett and I really the last to know?"

"No my dear. But…well…you see…" and Miss Eleanor's voice trailed off with what Scarlett thought was embarrassment.

"Close your ears, children," Henry bellowed.

Both Wade and Ella pretended to cover their ears with their hands.

"What she means to say, Scarlett," Henry continued in a hoarse whisper, "Is that, naturally, we spent our wedding night _here_ as we couldn't leave the children."

"And I think Dilcey and Mammy saw Uncle Henry leave the house in the morning, even though it was very early," Eleanor said softly. "Not that they have said anything."

Rhett chuckled. "Just think of the scandal, Mother, if that had got out! And I thought I was the only one to bring the family's name into disrepute."

"We're _married_, Rhett. I'm not doing anything of ill repute," Eleanor defended. "But it will be better when it is all out in the open. Mammy, in particular, has been looking at me quite oddly and I don't like all this _subterfuge."_

"Imagine everyone thinking that my mother is the new scarlet woman!" Rhett exclaimed, rather too gleefully.

"Rhett!" Scarlett cried, sensing Miss Eleanor's embarrassment. "Why don't you go and see about that bottle of champagne?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much later, when everyone had retired to their bedrooms and Henry had departed back to his own house for the evening, Scarlett sat at her dresser, brushing her hair whilst she waited for her husband.

She heard footsteps walk past her bedroom and then the creak of her husband's old door as it opened and closed. She held her breath as she listened. He seemed to be taking an inordinately long time coming to her bedroom, _their_ bedroom, and she briefly wondered, if he was going to go back to the old routine and sleep in his own bed. But she dismissed the notion. She was being ridiculous. They had been sleeping in the same room for over six weeks now. He wouldn't have come back to Atlanta, if they weren't going to try and be properly married.

She put her brush down, spritzed her hair and décolletage with her scent and then padded over to the large bed and climbed in.

Finally, she heard his door open and close again, his tread across the hallway and then her door open.

"Sorry, darling," he said as he walked in, carrying a shirt and underwear. "I just had to get some clothes."

He began to unravel his cravat, and then unbutton his shirt and then his trousers. He lay them on her chaise longue before he put on his nightshirt. Then, he climbed in next to her and lit a cigar.

"You had me worried, Rhett," she said, forgetting that it was not always best to voice all one's concerns.

"Worried? What? That I wouldn't share your bed tonight?"

"No…" she began but then she stopped herself. Their new relationship was meant to be based on honesty. "Well, I guess, part of me was. It's silly but…well, I don't know. It seems somewhat _strange _ to be sleeping in here with you again. So officially, too. I mean, _everyone_ knows."

"But isn't that what you wanted, Scarlett? Didn't your plan of seduction work?"

"My plan of…?" She wrinkled her nose and raised her dark eyebrows. "If I remember correctly, dear husband, it was you that seduced me. I just told you that I wanted you home. I didn't ask you to come back to my bed. You were outside my door. I didn't have any choice."

"Semantics, my pet," he whispered. "And I didn't notice you complain at the time."

He pulled her gently towards him and began to stroke her head. His touch had a habit of relaxing her, reassuring her. "I have to admit though, Scarlett, I hate this bedroom. I've always hated it. If we are going to stay living in this house, then we need to redecorate this bedroom, too. And I think we should do it together. Choose furniture and drapes and colours together. Think of it as a test. To see how far we have come in the art of compromise."

"I don't mind how it's decorated, Rhett. You can choose what you want."

"No. I want us to do it, together."

"But you have better taste, Rhett. I loved the ivory bedroom in Charleston-"

"Which had a woman's influence. My mother's."

She watched him in silence as the embers of his cigar smouldered, pondering the evening's events. "Did you know about Uncle Henry and your mother, Rhett?" she asked.

"No. I had no idea. I absolutely did not see that coming at all. For only the second time in my life, I was really surprised. It's quite strange to be acquiring a stepfather at my great age."

"You weren't terribly nice to your mother. Trying to embarrass her like you did."

Rhett grinned mischievously.

"What did she expect? And then the confession about spending their wedding night together."

"Do you think…well…you know…"

"No, I don't know."

"Yes you do. Do you think they _shared a bed_?" Scarlett whispered the last three words.

"So, do I think they consummated the marriage?"

"Yes."

"To be honest, Scarlett, I'd rather not think anything about any of that when it comes to my mother and your Uncle Henry."

"But, do you?"

"Scarlett…"

"Alright," she sighed.

He puffed on his cigar and then blew smoke rings over her hair.

"Rhett?"

"Hmmm?"

"When was the first time?"

"You've lost me, Scarlett."

"You said _it's the second time_ you've been really surprised by something. When was the first time?"

He pulled her closer to him as he stubbed the cigar out. "Falling in love with you. That was the first time I was really surprised by something. Or actually no. Maybe it was a Southern woman throwing a vase in a fit of pique. I haven't quite decided."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N To all those hanging in and still reading, thank you. To all the prompters – Wiolka, Ondine – a special thank you._

_I spent a wonderful few days in the Old South – visiting Charleston, Atlanta, and various small towns in the Carolinas. I came across a Rhett Butler Drive (straddled across Ashley River Road – I always wondered if MM chose "Ashley" because it was a river in Charleston) – on our drive out to the Middleton Plantation. It made me chuckle._

_I learnt a few interesting things at the Margaret Mitchell museum in Atlanta. I am sure many of you know these facts but I thought I would repeat them here, for those that are interested. _

_Firstly, her first love (Clifford someone) was killed in WWI and had the same initials (CH) as Charles Hamilton. I think it was Coco B (if not you, Coco – sorry) that might have first put this thought in my head – that if Charles had lived, Scarlett probably would have made a reasonable success out of the marriage in the end._

_Secondly, MM's sister in law's maiden name was Benteen._

_Thirdly, MM's grandmother had delivered a baby whilst trying to flee gunfire of some description. (I can't remember the exact story)._

_Fourthly, a fact I did know but had forgotten – her first husband's middle initial was "K" – but also that the marriage broke down when he carried her up the stairs of their house and raped her in about month 2 of their marriage. I know that this is where she was purported to have drawn inspiration from the GWTW "rape" – but I have read and re-read that passage and Scarlett kisses him back and then she is definitely high on the sex afterwards. So whilst it might have been sexual assault, I struggle with how it was rape. Maybe it would be rape in Georgian law. I don't know._

_Finally, she wrote the book by focussing on characters and events, piecemeal. So she wrote each chapter and then put it in a manila envelope and sealed it. When it was handed over, it was just a bundle of chapters and was a mess- and she had to go back and edit it and also decide when events happened and in what order. I think that is why the time line for the last hundred pages (miscarriage, Bonnie's death, Melly's death) is so jumbled._


	47. Chapter 47

_A/N – With the flurry of recent updates, I thought I should post this. The next chapter will be the ball. Thanks for everyone who reads and reviews. Every time I get a review notification, it spurs me on to get back to my writing desk. I expect there are a few typos/clumsy sentences that will need to be amended in due course. Happy reading._

Chapter 47

By the Tuesday following Scarlett and Rhett's return, the guest list for the wedding party had been drawn up, invitations written and delivered, and the menu planned. And Henry Hamilton was having very little say in the preparations, despite his repeated declarations for minimum fuss.

All of the Old Guard had been invited and Eleanor had invited many of her friends from Charleston, too – including Scarlett's aunts and Uncle Carey – as well as Ross and Geraldine. For a brief moment, she had pondered postponing the celebrations until after Rosemary returned from her travels – she was now somewhere in deepest North Africa - but when Henry bellowed that if he had to put up with the commotion of the party for a day longer, there would be no party, Eleanor quickly abandoned the idea.

Once the invitations had been sent out and the announcement of the marriage made, Eleanor moved her belongings into Henry's old town house, a few blocks further down on Peachtree Street and quickly set about putting a feminine touch to his residence. Initially, Henry had resisted her attempts at overhauling the décor, but after he came home one day to find that all his tatty cushions and lampshades had been thrown out and replaced with silk soft furnishings of a paler, and less gloomy and masculine palette, he gave up voicing his complaints.

"Whatever makes her happy," he had grumbled to Rhett after supper one evening, when Scarlett and Eleanor had retired to take their coffee in the parlour. And then, with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he had added. "I'll get my own back. Your mother will have to cater to _my_ tastes in Charleston," for the newly-weds had decided to split their time equally between their two home cities.

Scarlett was enjoying planning the party and watching the dynamic between the old curmudgeon and his new bride. It amused her to see how Eleanor had Henry wrapped round her little finger, and most nights, when everyone had retired for the evening, she would regale Rhett with little anecdotes from the day about the new couple and their tiffs.

"Is your mother different with Uncle Henry to how she was with your father, Rhett?" Scarlett asked one evening when she was getting ready for bed.

Rhett was sitting by the window, reading a book. "Yes," he said simply, closing the book. "Very different. She's..." He sighed and looked contemplative. "She's more assertive. Maybe spending time with you, darling, has been rubbing off on my mother? Who knows?"

Scarlett pulled a face at him. "Be serious, Rhett!"

"What makes you think I'm not being serious?"

She ignored him. "Do you think it's because she is older?"

"No. I think it's because Henry is not a bully, unlike my father. For all his bluster, he is actually very kind. And thoughtful. He doesn't judge, either and he wants an easy life. He's a wise man."

Scarlett digested his words. It was true. Henry might have occasionally raised his eyebrows at her behaviour but she had always felt he had understood why she had acted as she had.

"Why do you think they got married, Rhett?"

Rhett laughed. "Why do lots of people get married, Scarlett?"

"For love…for children…"

"For love?" he scoffed. "You've been married three times and not once did you marry for love. And, if my memory serves me correct, you didn't marry for children either."

"Well…I've come to believe you should only get married for love," she said haughtily.

"How sentimental of you my dear! People have got married for many different reasons over the years. For politics, for economics. Because they didn't want to be lonely."

"Your mother and Uncle Henry don't strike me as lonely people. They have plenty of friends. Just look at the guest list!"

"Looks can be deceptive, Scarlett. You can still be lonely even if you are surrounded by family and friends."

He held her gaze for a few moments as though he was willing her to have a deeper understanding of his words. Is that why he had returned to her, because he didn't want to be lonely in his old age? An unwelcome shiver went down her spine as she pondered the facts. He still hadn't told her he loved her, he still insisted on using preventatives when they went to bed, she still felt he was holding back, even if he was sweet and attentive towards her.

She shivered again and felt unnerved and put her hairbrush down. She didn't want to hear any more, in case he said something that would cause her world to come crashing down around her. He hadn't told her he loved her but he hadn't told her that he _didn't_ love her. Unlike when he had first returned in March, when it had seemed he had almost _relished_ making the statement.

Silently, she got up from her vanity stool, slipped off her wrapper and then climbed under the sheets. Her husband whispered something to her from across the room but she didn't hear what he said. Instead, she closed her eyes, aware that he had begun to undress, and when he finally joined her in the bed, she pretended that she was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hundred people had been invited to the marriage celebration and almost all had accepted. Of the Old Guard, only Maybelle Picard had declined but she had sent a written apology to Scarlett the day she had received the invitation and had asked if Scarlett might visit her before too long. When Scarlett bumped into Mrs Merriwether coming out of the kitchen one morning, Mrs Merriwether had pressed the point.

"Have you been to see Maybelle yet, Scarlett?" she asked.

"Not yet, Mrs Merriwether. Perhaps after the party."

"I think she had something she wanted to ask you. I suggest you visit her sooner." From her commanding tone, Scarlett knew better than to disobey her and so the following afternoon, Scarlett called on Maybelle.

Grace let her in, looking as ragged as any new mother might, even though she had long passed her childbearing years, and then led her into the parlour, where Maybelle had just finished feeding her new daughter. "Hello, Scarlett," Maybelle said as she stood up, babe in arms, to kiss her.

"Good afternoon, Maybelle," Scarlett said, as she brushed her lips against Maybelle's wan cheek. "Minnie baked you a lemon cake and I've bought a couple of bonnets for Rachel," she continued, as she handed over her gifts.

"How sweet of you. Thank you, Scarlett," Maybelle replied, thankful that the horrible business of her letters to Captain Butler appeared to have been forgiven and forgotten.

When the two women were alone, waiting for Grace to bring in some refreshments, they sat on the threadbare settee, their knees almost knocking together. Rachel gurgled as Maybelle rocked her and Scarlett looked on enviously. For all of René's monkeyish features, he and Maybelle produced handsome babies.

"Can I hold her?" Scarlett asked, when Maybelle switched the baby to her shoulder and started rubbing her back.

"Of course you can. But I can't promise your dress won't get ruined."

"It doesn't matter," Scarlett replied. "It's old and besides, I haven't held a baby in ever so long. Not since…" She paused, trying to remember the last time she had held a baby in her arms. "Not since Bonnie."

Maybelle handed her daughter over to Scarlett. "I feel certain that you will have another child, Scarlett, now that Captain Butler is back in Atlanta."

Scarlett smiled. If only people would stop assuming that she would have more children it might make the whole matter easier to deal with. Why, even Miss Eleanor had been alluding to more grandchildren - and to make matters worse, in earshot of Ella!

"It's wonderful news about Mr Hamilton and Mrs Butler," Maybelle continued when Scarlett didn't say anything. "Fancy it! The most confirmed bachelor in Atlanta getting married. It's almost as much of a shock as when you and Captain Butler got married!" Scarlett raised her left eyebrow, quizzically. "I don't mean about Mr Kennedy and his death…and everything…how quickly…I mean…well, everyone said that Captain Butler would never marry and then he married you!"

Scarlett locked eyes with her hostess, wondering where the conversation was headed. It was strange how, even though someone else had got married, attention was once again focussed on her own marriage.

"It's all about meeting the right person, isn't it Maybelle?" Scarlett replied, as the baby started meowing. She shifted the baby into the nook of her right arm and settled her.

"I suppose so. But you and Captain Butler, it took you years to get married. He courted you for ever so long. But Mrs Butler and Mr Hamilton! It was only a few months!" Maybelle leaned in towards Scarlett, as though she was ready to divulge a secret. "I heard from Mama that Mr Hamilton had once courted Evelyn Whiting. Can you imagine?"

"Uncle Henry and Evelyn Whiting? Really?"

"I always thought Mr Hamilton was too…what's the word?... like he couldn't be bothered with women. Not that I mean any disrespect to your uncle. But I always thought he found the fairer sex too much hassle, too flighty and too much of an expense!" Maybelle giggled and Scarlett forced a smile.

"I am so pleased that he has found Mrs Butler. It's rather romantic don't you think? I am sorry to miss your party, though. I know it will be wonderful and a lot of fun. There hasn't been a big party like the one you are having for ever so long. And if I hadn't just had Rachel, I would have come. But René will be there. As well as Mama and my grandfather. And Jack. I think he's escorting Fanny."

"Fanny?" Scarlett asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yes. He took her out to the theatre last week. I think they're quietly courting." Then, Maybelle whispered, "I _know_ they're quietly courting."

Scarlett nodded and swallowed, tasting bile. She didn't want to hear any more. She allowed her gaze to wander to the vase of flowers that stood on the sideboard and which she had sent the day after she had returned from her second honeymoon. Had he really gotten over her rejection so quickly? Had he just been interested in a woman, _any_ woman, and she had seemed an easy opportunity?

"Scarlett, René and I have been talking and we were wondering if you would do us – or rather Rachel – the honour of being her godmother."

Scarlett's attention snapped back to the new mother.

"Godmother?" Scarlett repeated. "Me?" She had only been asked to be godmother to Beau and to Suellen's second eldest - a request she felt was as much to do with Suellen not knowing many Catholics and Will trying to force the sisters to mend bridges than anything else.

"Yes. If, that is, you don't mind. I know that it tends to be kept within the family, but you have been so wonderful to _my_ family, Scarlett, and would be such a role model to Rachel. And then of course if anything happened to us…" She paused briefly. "You're so strong and smart. I've always admired you, Scarlett and secretly wished I could be more like you. Melanie was always vocal about what a wonderful person you were, even if the older generation didn't always…condone… what you did." Scarlett frowned and Maybelle suddenly flushed beetroot. "What I mean is…well…you see…"

"I know what you mean, Maybelle," Scarlett said softly.

"I used to agree with Melanie but I never used to say it out loud and now I wish that I hadn't been such a mouse and had properly stood up for you against Mama and Mrs Meade and all of them." Maybelle scanned Scarlett's face to see if she had caused offence. "Not that you needed me or anyone else to stand your corner."

"Maybelle, you're being far too kind," Scarlett said awkwardly, feeling vaguely embarrassed by Maybelle's candidness. She had never been very good at taking compliments, if they weren't directed towards her appearance and she would far rather pretend that her ostracism by the Old Guard hadn't ever really happened. Especially as, since she had returned from Charleston, people had started seeking her out in the street rather than looking the other way. No doubt they still gossiped about her – after all, the Old Guard had notoriously long memories – but, now, at least there were a few positive stories to tell about her.

"No. I'm not, Scarlett. I'm being honest. Fanny, Sarah, me…we just accepted what our mothers said about you without stopping to think what we would do in your position. We always just accepted that we were the inferior sex because we had been brought up to believe that. But when you started taking the men on at their own game, when you made Kennedy's _far_ more successful than poor Mr Kennedy ever had, when you bought the mills, we were quite awestruck by you. And maybe a little jealous."

"Believe me, there's nothing to be jealous of so far as I am concerned." Scarlett stroked Rachel's black hair and then kissed her gently on the forehead.

"Jealous is probably the wrong word," Maybelle quickly recanted. "But you led the way and helped make it acceptable for women to work and be good at it."

Scarlett shrugged. "I did – we all did – what we had to survive. Look at your mother and her bakery."

"I know. And that is why I always cringed when she would gossip about you _unsexing_ yourself. It never seemed fair to me," Maybelle whispered.

Scarlett caught her friend's gaze again and then Rachel started crying.

"So, will you accept?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlett felt she had no choice _but_ toaccept and so, she did graciously, despite not quite understanding why Maybelle had asked her to be godmother to her new baby, other than the fact that she was, at least nominally, Catholic.

When she returned from the Picard house, she retired to her bedroom, thankful for peace and quiet. Wade was at school, Ella was still with her governess – Scarlett had insisted on longer days, concerned that her daughter hadn't been that attentive in her studies whilst she had been away – and Eleanor was attending the bakery stall in the front garden. Her husband was out, too – although no one seemed to know exactly where he had gone.

She kicked off her shoes and rolled down her stockings and removed them. She walked over to her bed but as she was about to lie down, she spied the wooden box that Rhett kept his preventatives in. The battered oak casing was poking out from underneath all the coverlets and throws.

She knelt down and picked up the box and was about to put it back in his bedside cabinet when she suddenly wondered what Rhett would do if the box just disappeared. Would he cease sharing her bed, just because he had no means to prevent a pregnancy?

She carried the box through to her closet intending to hide it amongst her hat boxes but then decided on a more permanent course of action. If she lit the fire in her fireplace, he would never be able to find it and he wouldn't suspect her either. No doubt, he would blame the servants. He might not even mention it to her and surely, with the Comstock Laws in effect, he would struggle to replace them – at least for a few days, if not weeks. Would he really be able to resist her for such a long period, especially if she used all her feminine wiles to seduce him?

She walked back out into her room and over to the mantelpiece. Fumbling with the matches, she lit the fire and placed the box carefully in it. She stepped back, away from the heat, opened the French windows and then turned back to watch the box spit black smoke and crackle before collapsing into the kindle wood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhett returned to the house in the early evening with tickets for a Mozart recital he wanted to attend at the new concert hall on Marietta Street. Scarlett had protested that she needed an hour to get ready and so she dressed whilst he tucked the children up in bed and read to Ella. Tonight, she had decided, she would break her mourning and wear a midnight blue, silk and organza dress – which in the dim light of the concert hall might pass for black.

After Minnie helped her dress, Scarlett dismissed her so that she could put the finishing touches to her outfit without the disapproving stare of the maid. She applied her rouge and a light powder and then pulled out the onyx set that Rhett had given her in Paris.

"Ella's asleep and I expect Wade will be soon."

Scarlett jumped at Rhett's voice. She hadn't heard her husband enter their bedroom.

"Wade was quite adamant that he didn't need to go to bed," Rhett continued. "But I told him that tomorrow was a big day and he needed to store up his energy if he wanted to go to the party."

"Good," Scarlett replied.

She re-pinned some strands of her hair that had fallen out of their grip and then reached for her necklace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband walk over towards his bedside cabinet and open it. He rummaged around, as though he was looking for something. Dear God, she thought, panicking, I don't want you to notice the absence of your special box _just_ yet. In her mind, she had intended it to happen tomorrow night, when she had had more time to make herself alluring, when she was wearing her new green gown that she had commissioned for her trip to Charleston and when he had had a few drinks.

She turned back to her vanity mirror, hoping he wouldn't notice the evident discomfort on her face. The onyx necklace slipped through her fingers onto her lap. She retrieved it and then opened the clasp and placed the string of beads behind her neck. But the clasp wouldn't close.

"Here, darling, let me."

Rhett was standing over her – she hadn't seen him approach her vanity. She smiled duplicitously, handed him the necklace, and closed her eyes – in case her eyes gave her crimes away. She felt his lips brush along her nape, and then a few moments later, his hands place the beads around her neck. When she opened her eyelids, she gasped. He hadn't put on her onyx necklace but a beautiful sapphire and diamond necklace. Which was identical to that which she had sold in July.

"Rhett?" she murmured, as her stomach churned.

He had an odd look on his face as though he was anticipating something. Had he found her old necklace in a shop and bought it? Did he _know _that this was her old necklace?

When she still didn't say anything, he sighed. "I'm rather tired of seeing you in onyx, Scarlett. And I saw this the other day in the jewellers on the corner of Piedmont Street and Ninth Street."

Scarlett looked at him through the mirror. _Surely_ he knew that this was the same necklace he had bought her to celebrate their one month anniversary, over seven years ago?

She swallowed, bruising her throat with her guilt. She had to tell him. They had been back in Atlanta for almost two weeks and her lack of jewellery was becoming rather obvious. There were only so many lies she could tell to explain her situation.

"Rhett…" She stood up and smoothed her skirt. She walked over to the mantelpiece, wishing that she had had the aperitif that he had offered earlier in the evening. "Rhett, I have something to tell you…"

She tripped over some slippers that she had discarded on the floor but he was behind her and caught her.

"Yes?" He swivelled her round, his eyes boring into her.

Oh God, she lamented, if only she was better at reading him! Would he be furious? But she tried to justify her actions. She had got money for the jewellery and she had genuinely thought that she would no longer have any use for them. How was she to know that she would regain her husband and a social life that would give her the opportunity to wear such extravagant jewels?

She cast her eyes down and began to fumble with her emerald engagement ring. He caught her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him, still wearing that intense look. She knew she had to speak.

"Rhett, when you left me in October, you know how _hurt_ I was…"

"You've told me, Scarlett. But you know-"

"Yes, I know that you felt you had to go. Especially now I know about James."

"Darling, it's all in the past. I thought we had-"

"Yes, yes, I know, Rhett." If only he would hush and listen to her. "But Rhett, I had all these worries and…" she twisted her hands out in an ungainly manner. Maybe if she closed her eyes and just confessed quickly.

"I sense a confession coming on, Scarlett." His voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

"Well…" she let her voice trail off again.

"There isn't anything you could tell me that will change my decision to come back to Atlanta," he said softly. "Unless you are about to tell me you aren't in love with me or love someone else."

"No, no," she exclaimed, shaking her head in emphasis.

"Well, then."

He held her gaze steadily, and she was able to determine that there was an element of mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Rhett, don't be mad at me, but I didn't just sell my engagement ring. You see, I asked Uncle Henry to…well, I sold-"

Just as the words were about to tumble out, their bedroom door was flung open. They both turned. Ella was standing in the doorway, clutching her favourite doll and crying, her curls matted against her flushed face.

Scarlett rushed over to her, a flood of maternal instinct washing over her. "Darling," she soothed as she enveloped her in her arms. "What's the matter?"

"I'm scared of dying, Mother. Like…like Bonnie and Beth."

Scarlett shot a quick glance in her husband's direction as Ella nestled her head against Scarlett's bosom.

"Who is Beth?" Scarlett asked softly, as she stroked her daughter's head.

"Beth. In the book."

"What book?"

"The book Uncle Rhett and I are reading."

"What book were you reading her, Rhett?" Scarlett asked.

"An abbreviated version of Little Women."

"Little Women?"

Scarlett had vaguely heard of the book but didn't know the story. "Who's Beth?"

"One of the four sisters in the book, Scarlett. Unfortunately, she dies."

"I don't want to die, Mother. I don't want to die!" Ella wailed.

"Darling," said Scarlett quickly and scowling at Rhett, who looked slightly sheepish. "We're all going to die at some point. But you're not going to die for a very, very long time."

"But Bonnie did. And now Beth has."

Scarlett inhaled deeply as she pondered Ella's logic. "Yes, but not you. Not for a very long time." She brushed the thick curls away from her wet eyes. "I promise you, darling."

Ella yawned and tightened her grip round her mother.

After a few moments, Scarlett asked her daughter if she would be able to sleep. Ella nodded and rubbed her eyes.

"I'll take you back to bed then and I'll ask Dilcey to come upstairs to check in on you, whilst we are out," Scarlett volunteered and she took Ella's hand and led her back to her bedroom.

_A/N I never know when to just narrate something or when to give conversation. For example, I pondered whether the conversation between Maybelle and Scarlett should have been summed up in a couple of lines of narration – I suspect this is why the story is much longer than it might otherwise have been. If I had done more of that, it probably would make a pacier read._


	48. Chapter 48

_A short chapter as struggling with the "after the ball" scene between Scarlett and Rhett. Still playing with that part so I thought I would put this snippet up. Thanks to all of you reviewers, especially those (like Alison) that commented on the dialogue vs narrative point in last chapter's A/N. _

_Two more chapters to go…_

Chapter 48

On the day of the party, the whole house was buzzing was excitement. The bakery only opened in the morning and by one o'clock, Dilcey had the kitchen to herself and was busy bossing about the lower ranking maids with food preparations and getting the wine and champagne glasses ready. Pork, under the direction of his wife, was given the task of re-arranging the furniture with William and some of the stable boys, whilst Mammy oversaw Minnie and Reena polishing the marble floor in the ballroom and dusting everywhere as though their lives depended on it.

The flower arrangements were delivered at three o'clock – white roses, snowdrops and peonies - and Scarlett and Dilcey stood side by side, making sure that William placed them just so, and ignoring the fact that his eyes were streaming and he was sneezing everywhere.

When the house was ready, Scarlett ordered the servants to place the hundreds of tea lights that she had bought especially for the party, around the veranda, that ran outside the ballroom, and on the lower patio in readiness for later. They would be lit at nine o'clock, shortly before the dancing would begin.

Then, she walked through the reception rooms one last time, fluffing up the odd cushion, and running her fingers along railings and furniture to check for dust, before finally going upstairs to get ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I almost feel as though this could be _our_ wedding party, Rhett," Scarlett said wistfully, as she pinned the last tendril of her hair. "We never really did celebrate our wedding."

"That was your choice, Scarlett. I would have given you whatever party you wanted but you wanted to keep it low-key. You didn't even allow me to invite my mother."

"Don't you dare blame me for your mother's absence. I don't recall you even broaching the subject!" she retorted, as she picked up her scent bottle. "And then that party we gave when we moved into this house!" She winced at the memory and closed her eyes. "I wish I had listened to you, and not invited all that white trash. And the Governor! What was I thinking? I hadn't realised quite how many people would snub me. Or how much it would hurt. But this party…this party, I just _know_ is going to be a success! Apart from Maybelle, I can't think of anyone who has declined our invitation."

"That might have more to do with my mother and Henry than us, darling. Or maybe the free food and wine."

Scarlett caught his raised eyebrows in the reflection of the mirror.

"Fiddle-dee-dee!"

She leaned towards the mirror and pinched her cheeks for some natural colour. Then, she studied her reflection and wasn't displeased with what she saw. Her cheeks were no longer hollow and the dark circles that had seemed permanently etched around her eyes since October had all but disappeared. And she was wearing her favourite colour – green. The colour that Rhett had never quite been able to resist her in.

She had picked up the gown a week ago and she had hidden it deep in her closet. Like a bride, she hadn't wanted Rhett to see it until tonight, in case it brought her – them - bad luck. She knew it flattered her, even if perhaps it was slightly too low cut for his tastes. It was a dark green silk, with an organza overlay, slightly ruched at one side with a small bustle - and by the look he had given her when he had walked into their bedroom after Minnie had finished dressing her, she knew she had chosen well, even if he had raised his eyebrows when she had bent over to pick some hair pins off the floor. He had had a glint, a _lustful_ glint, in his eyes and when he had kissed her briefly, his hands had roved all over her body. He had only stopped when she had stepped away and sat back down at her vanity to continue fixing her hair. It would have been so easy to give in to him, but she had to wait. _He_ had to wait. She needed to tease him for a few more hours and then it would be easy to get him to surrender.

She stood up and turned round to her husband, whose eyes had begun to rake her again. Oh, she wished he wouldn't look at her like that. It was _most_ distracting.

She moved a couple of paces but he caught her arms and pulled her to him. "Come here, darling," he murmured. She swayed and fell into his arms as he tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

"Not now, Rhett. You'll make me…untidy."

"Untidy? That's a new word for it, Scarlett." He turned her face round and placed his lips once again on hers.

"Rhett, no…" she stammered, unconvincingly.

"No? But I can feel your heart beating faster and faster." His hands were underneath the basque of her gown and she felt the familiar tremble in her legs. As if they might give way.

"Rhett…we…have…a…party…to…host."

"Not for half an hour or so."

"Rhett, please. I've just got dressed."

"Alright, darling." He withdrew and she stepped back, as a few strands of her hair tumbled out of their grip.

"You see?" she huffed as she felt her hair. "We're meant to be downstairs. In fact, I think I heard your mother and Uncle Henry arrive. We should be downstairs ready to greet them."

Rhett laughed and picked up a cigar from his case and lit it. He leaned against one of the four bedposts and watched her re-affix her toilette.

"I wish Melly was here," Scarlett suddenly announced, deciding it best to change the subject. "I wonder what she would think of Uncle Henry and your mother."

"I'm sure Miss Melly would have approved. Especially with Henry mellowing around your aunt, Pitty," Rhett replied. "I don't believe they have been under the same roof in years, at least, not since our wedding."

"They both came to Bonnie's christening and funeral, Rhett."

"True, but they had less choice on those occasions. This party is different."

Scarlett frowned at her husband before she took one last look in her vanity mirror. Something was missing. She would wear her onyx jewellery set – it was either that or the sapphires Rhett gave her last night but green and blue would clash - but her hair needed something in it

She walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a cheap, simple hair comb with green crystals on it, which she had bought the other day. Of course, she could have bought something more exquisite with real jewels but the invoice would have been sent to the house and Rhett would have found it.

She slid the comb into her hair and looked at her reflection. It would do, she decided. To a less discerning eye and certainly in the soft light emitted by the gas lanterns and candles, the green stones could pass as emeralds.

"India told me that Aunt Pitty had a fainting fit when she heard about Uncle Henry and Miss Eleanor," Scarlett said, over her shoulder,"And then, according to India, she almost fainted again when she received an invitation to afternoon tea at Uncle Henry's last week. Naturally, she went but she insisted India accompany her."

Scarlett turned round to face her husband but he had disappeared into his closet. "Your mother has been very sweet with her," Scarlett continued, raising her voice above the rustling that was coming from her husband's closet. "Maybe Aunt Pitty will be next? To get married I mean," and she laughed at her own joke.

She picked up her onyx earbobs and threaded them through her ears. Then, she picked up the onyx strand and held it against her neck. Diamonds would look better, she mused, but the only diamonds she had kept from her jewellery collection were the small diamond earbobs her aunt had given to her at Christmas which had once belonged to her grandmother. She could wear them but really, she needed a diamond necklace to go with them. The necklace Rhett had given her on the eve of their wedding would have been perfect, she sighed.

"Stop, Scarlett." Her husband had returned to the bedroom and was holding a small box. She caught his gaze, but it was as inscrutable as ever. "Don't put that onyx on again. Here," he continued, handing her the box. "Try this."

Scarlett's eyes twinkled with pleasure as she took the box.

"Really, Rhett. I told you before, you don't need to _buy_ me."

"If that's really the case, then, I'll give my gifts to someone who appreciates them more," and he attempted to wrestle the box back from her grip.

"No! No!" Scarlett playfully exclaimed. "I appreciate your gifts, Rhett. You've always had such great taste." She held the box in her hand as she studied it for a few moments. This part of their marriage had always been fun. Opening presents. She couldn't remember any occasion when she had been disappointed.

The box was wrapped in gold paper and she eagerly tore at it. Then she clicked it open and inside was a huge diamond, surrounded by emeralds, on a pedant. In exactly the same style as her old engagement ring.

She picked it up and held it to the candles that were flickering on the mantelpiece. "It's like my old engagement ring."

"It _is_ your old engagement ring. I had it re-set as a necklace."

"What do you mean?"

"It _is_ your old engagement ring."

"But…I don't understand…How did you…" She didn't finish her sentence because she was busy holding it up to the light, admiring how the light reflected off the huge six carat diamond. Then she fastened it round her neck. It looked beautiful. Perfect.

"How did I what, Scarlett?" he whispered. He walked the couple of steps necessary so that his body was flush against hers.

"How did you find it?" she replied, softly. "I sold it months ago."

His hands moved from his side and wrapped around her waist from behind, as he nuzzled her neck.

"Scarlett, I have wondered if you really were still as obtuse and blind as you had been for the first part of our marriage. And now I know."

"Rhett, stop speaking in riddles," she huffed. She wriggled out of his arms and peered closer to the mirror that was over the mantelpiece. It really was an exquisite piece of jewellery. Then, she turned back to her husband. "How did you find it, Rhett?"

"I bought it."

"You bought it?"

"If you sold it, as you told me you had, how else do you think I would have come to have it now?"

"You…bought…it…?" She pondered his words before she suddenly wondered if the shop he had bought it from might still have some of her other jewellery pieces which she could buy back. The gentlemen who had bought it from her uncle might well have sold the whole lot to one jeweller. "Where did you buy it?"

Rhett raised his eyebrows. "I bought it from a gentlemen."

So he must have bought it directly from the man to whom her uncle had sold her jewellery to!

"Do you know the name of the gentlemen, Rhett?"

"Scarlett!" He seemed amused and exasperated by her in equal measure.

"I was only asking, Rhett. Because…well…"

She looked across at her vanity, to the discarded sapphire necklace she had worn to go to the concert the previous night. She breathed in deeply and then spoke quickly. "Rhett, I didn't just sell my engagement ring. I sold all my jewellery."

"At last," he breathed out.

"At last? What-?"

"I have been waiting to hear you tell me this, ever since you came to Charleston."

"What?"

"I wanted you to tell me weeks ago."

"You mean, you knew?"

"Correct."

"So, you knew all along that I had sold all my jewellery?"

He nodded.

"You knew I had sold my engagement ring before I told you?" If she thought about it, he hadn't seemed surprised when she had told him she had sold it.

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

He laughed. "Come now, Scarlett, wasn't it your confession to make?"

"But I…I mean, you could have told me!"

"And ruined an opportunity to see you squirm as you told me? Not likely. Besides, darling, with all your new _improvements_ I thought that you might have guessed."

"How would I have guessed? And how did you know? Did Uncle Henry tell you?"

"Scarlett!" He slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Well! Who told you then?"

"No one." He held her, arms' length, and looked into her eyes. "Darling, were you not suspicious about how the onyx jewellery set I gave to you in Paris is rather like your original set?"

"It's very similar, but it isn't _exactly_ the same."

"No. Because I changed the necklace."

"You mean…you changed…you bought…." And then she realised what had happened. The man standing before her, her husband, the man she had been trying to indirectly hurt by selling the jewellery, had bought her jewels. It had passed from one Butler to another. She wrinkled her brow. "Do you mean to tell me, Rhett Butler, that _you_ bought my jewellery from Uncle Henry?"

"Yes, my dear. Wasn't it obvious?"

"Obvious? How could it have been obvious?" From somewhere in her subconscious, she dug out the words her uncle had used to tell her who had purchased the jewellery. But he had only described the purchaser as a _silly fool_. "But why, Rhett?"

"Why? Because no one in this current economic climate would have given you the real value for them. And I saw it as a good investment."

Was he joking? She felt vaguely hurt by his riposte. She had wanted him to tell her that he had bought them because he loved her or at the very least, because he always intended to reclaim her as his wife. But instead it was for economic reasons.

She swallowed the slight and peered again at the necklace. The gems looked so much better around her neck than they ever had on her hand. "I did _try_ and tell you, Rhett," Scarlett said defensively, as she took off the onyx earbobs. She could wear her grandmother's diamonds now. "I tried to tell you, several times. Even last night, I was trying to tell you, but I wasn't entirely sure how you would react." She looked at him and then put her arms around him as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Darling, did you buy _all _my jewellery from Uncle Henry?"

He nodded slowly and then moved his head closer to hers, poised to kiss her. His moustache tickled her upper lip and his hands began to stray again. She moved even closer towards him, feeling slightly giddy.

"In that case," she began, trying to speak even though his mouth was very insistent on hers. "Can I have the emerald and diamond hair comb back that you gave me for Christmas? I think it would go perfectly with what I am wearing."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N Of course, Rhett bought the jewellery. Just as some people believe Scarlett should have been able to realise Rhett really did love her for all those years, Scarlett should perhaps have been able to see Rhett had bought the jewellery. I wish I could remember back to the first time I read/watched GWTW – did I know that Rhett really did love her? As an adult, I feel sure I would have realised – but I am not so sure. _

_Sorry for not getting to the ball/party. Next time. And then one more chapter._


	49. Chapter 49

_A/N Penultimate chapter. This does need revising but I will revise this – and some of the other chapters to make them flow better/provide tighter writing – after I have finished the story. I cannot tell you how excited I am about writing Chapter 50 and finally being able to mark this story as "Complete". Thanks to all you readers, reviewers, favouriters etc. You make my day._

Chapter 49

The guests started to trickle through the giant, front door of the Butler mansion at exactly half past seven. Pork and William stood on one side of the entrance, holding silver trays replete with glasses of champagne and Minnie and Reena stood on the other to take shawls, hats and umbrellas.

The hosts and the newly-weds had assembled in a line, ready to receive their visitors. Uncle Henry had tried to remove himself from the fuss by hiding in the parlour but Eleanor had stood her ground. "It's only once, Henry," she had scoffed. "Anyone would think you were having second thoughts about being married. Or that you were embarrassed to be married to me."

"Not at all, Eleanor. Not at all."

"Well then," she said and she linked her arm through her husband's tightly as she manoeuvred them into the hallway.

Scarlett had acquiesced and allowed Wade and Ella to stand next to their parents and Ella was eager to tell everyone that she was wearing the same dress she had worn to the _actual_ wedding. "I was _there_,_" _was herfrequent refrain. "And I kept it a secret for two _whole_ weeks."

"We _all_ kept it a secret, Ella. Beau, me, Aunt India, Uncle Ashley. It wasn't _just_ you," Wade would whisper, before Scarlett shot him a threatening look which silenced him.

Soft melodies from a Viennese harpist, and the hum of contentment and awe, spiked with hearty laughter, wafted through the parlour and the rarely used, formal sitting room. Their interconnecting doors had been pushed back and the guests mingled, spilling onto the front porch when the two large rooms became overcrowded, sipping on the finest champagnes and eating mouth-watering canapés, a novelty that Rhett had come across in France and which he had asked Dilcey to replicate,

By nine o'clock, one hundred bottles of champagne and fifty bottles of burgundy had been drunk, most of the canapés had been eaten and the children had been ushered upstairs to bed by Mammy, who had taken the opportunity to retire herself.

Scarlett was standing next to Ashley, talking to Emma and India when she felt Rhett's hand on the small of her back. "Come with me, darling," he whispered, his eyes flicking up towards his former love rival. Then, he added, just loudly enough for the person closest to Scarlett to hear, "Although, unfortunately, I can't take you to where I _really _want to take you for a few more hours," and he brushed his lips against her neck, making sure that Ashley was in no doubt what he meant.

"Rhett!" Scarlett giggled, oblivious to the silent battle that was going on between her husband and his nemesis. She was too blinded by her own adoration for her husband to catch either Rhett's eyes pivoting from Ashley to her, or the look of disdain on Ashley's face.

She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and walked with Rhett to the entrance of the ballroom, the doors of which had just been opened by Pork. The room was a sea of oak panelling and green silks, lit up by exquisite silver candelabras and three huge crystal chandeliers, that shimmered like diamonds in the mirrors. White flowers had been placed in the four corners of the room and on the six side tables that Scarlett had had shipped over from Paris. The two, semi-circular settees, newly reupholstered in a pistachio coloured silk, had been pushed together to make a perfect circle in the centre of the room, ready for dancers to rest their tired feet on, and the dining room chairs had also been placed strategically around the room for the same purpose.

"I don't believe there is a nicer room in the whole of Atlanta," Scarlett said to her husband, admiring the spectacle. "Or a more expensive one."

Rhett laughed and kissed her on her forehead. "At least it's more tasteful now, darling. Even if you did wipe out a large chunk of my fortune doing it up."

"_My _fortune, Rhett," Scarlett corrected. "I didn't spend your money."

"Hmmm," Rhett murmured, but Scarlett either didn't hear his response or chose to pretend she hadn't.

"I think we should begin the dancing. It's after nine o'clock," Scarlett whispered as she spied the string quartet in the furthest corner, poised and ready to begin playing.

"Not yet. In a few moments. We need to raise a toast and welcome Henry into the Butler family."

"Welcome Uncle Henry into the Butler family? But your mother has become a Hamilton."

Rhett grinned. "Only in name. She's not really a Hamilton."

"Of course she is! She's married Uncle Henry hasn't she? And don't let Wade hear you say that. He's quite chuffed that his grandmother now shares his surname."

Rhett smiled benignly at his wife, before turning to Pork, who was hovering nearby. Rhett nodded at him and Pork began to beat gently on a small cymbal, calling the guests to attention. When there was only a ripple of whispers, Rhett started speaking and after welcoming everyone, he regurgitated a couple of anecdotes that Scarlett had relayed to him over the past couple of weeks about the newly-weds before he toasted his mother and Henry and their new life together. Then, the quartet started playing and Rhett prompted Henry to lead Eleanor into the centre of the room to begin the dancing, before taking Scarlett's hand and following. Soon, fifty or so couples were dancing and after the reel ended, Rhett and Henry swapped partners as the quartet struck up a waltz.

"I didn't even realise you could dance, Uncle Henry," Scarlett exclaimed, as she moved into his arms.

"I've always been able to dance but it's not a pastime I care much for. It seems, however, that when you are married, you don't always get a choice in what you do," Uncle Henry replied. He looked down at her neck, before quickly snapping his head back upwards, evidently uncomfortable with the amount of cleavage she was showing. "I see you're wearing your engagement ring, Scarlett. The one you sold."

"I should be mighty mad with you," Scarlett chided. "Why didn't you tell me that you had sold my jewellery to Rhett?"

Henry chuckled. "I don't break confidences, my dear. I'm a lawyer. But really, it should have been obvious. Who else but your husband would have had that sort of money _and_ want to spend it on jewellery? He's always been a fool so far as you are concerned."

Scarlett raised her eyebrows. "He told me he bought it for an investment."

"That's an interesting way of putting it," Henry replied.

"Interesting?" Scarlett said, confused.

"He bought them for you, Scarlett. You were his investment."

"I was his investment?"

Uncle Henry nodded and then chuckled. "Scarlett, wasn't it obvious what he meant?"

"No. It wasn't _obvious_ what he meant, Uncle Henry." She sighed. Obvious! That word was beginning to irritate her. "I wish Rhett would stop talking in riddles and tell me, in simple words, what he means."

"It's his way of holding back, protecting himself against you."

"Against me?" She raised her eyebrows in mock indignation. "How did he find out I was selling my jewellery?"

"I wrote to him and told him and he wrote back almost by return telling me that he would buy the lot. When I went to Charleston in July, I gave him the jewels. He had already transferred the money." Uncle Henry twirled Scarlett around, before he added. "He was quite hurt, Scarlett."

"Hurt?"

"Indeed. Especially when he saw what jewels you were selling."

"Like my engagement ring?" she asked.

"No. Funnily enough, he didn't seem too bothered by that. He seemed more upset – more _angry_ -about a diamond necklace – one that had fifty diamonds or something – and some emerald earrings."

Scarlett grimaced. He had given her the emerald earrings the day after she had told him she was pregnant with Bonnie, his way of cheering her up. And the necklace…the necklace was the one he had given her on the eve of their wedding. Who would have known that her husband could be so sentimental?

The last few cadences of the waltz played and then, as the music stopped and Scarlett sought Rhett out, Henry whispered into Scarlett's ear. "Remember that I am no longer just Wade's uncle. I am also your father-in-law."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I have his interests at heart, too. And if I hear that there is any more trouble in your marriage because of old infatuations, you won't just have your husband to deal with but me as well."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Scarlett had danced a reel with Hugh Elsing and the two-step with René, she excused herself and, picking up a glass of burgundy from a tray perched on the clavichord, walked outside. Rhett had disappeared into the library a few moments before with Uncle Carey and a group of other men and she strongly suspected that they hadn't gone in there to admire the books but rather to play poker or some other card game. But she didn't mind. She knew her plan was working. Her husband's eyes had barely left her all night, even when she had been dancing with someone else, and, whenever she had passed him, or he had passed her, he had pulled her to him and whispered something totally indecent into her ear which had made her blush and her heart beat wildly.

"Fancy old Henry Hamilton biting the bullet and getting married!" Grandpa Merriwether said to her, as he passed her on the veranda, on his way to join Doctor Meade and John Simmons for a smoke in the gardens below. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"You're only jealous he got there first, Mr Merriwether!" Scarlett replied, laughing. "Who wouldn't want to marry my elegant mother-in-law?"

She watched him walk down the steps to the grass below, and then turned her attentions back to the elevated veranda, as his daughter in law, Mrs Merriwether, pushed by Caroline Meade, rattled past her. Hugh and Jane Elsing followed behind. "We've just been for a walk to get some fresh air," Jane said to Scarlett. "The garden looked so beautiful and romantic with all the candles. And I've never seen so many flowers in a back yard and such varying types. It looks exquisite."

"Thank you," Scarlett replied. The gardeners had been working all week to get the garden ready for the party.

"It was a good idea to light it all up, Scarlett," Dolly Merriwether said over her shoulder, as Mrs Meade pushed her back into the ballroom. "Where on earth did you get the little candles?"

"From up North, I'm afraid," Scarlett answered. "I had them shipped in from Boston."

Mrs Merriwether snorted her derision, took a glass of champagne from William, who had just walked outside with a tray of drinks for the guests, and then ordered Mrs Meade to push her into the house. Scarlett watched the two battle axes for a while, before she beckoned to William to come over so that she could swap her burgundy for champagne. Then, she leaned against the balustrade and peered into the ballroom.

For the fourth time in the evening, Ashley was dancing with Emma. If it had been any other widower of less than a year's standing, such behaviour would have been scandalous, or at the very least would have elicited some mumblings of impropriety and raised eyebrows. But the town's original golden boy seemed untouchable and no one seemed to care or notice.

It would be a year, in three weeks, Scarlett thought. Three years since that dreadful, black day when a light had been extinguished forever in Atlanta and when both her and Ashley's lives had fallen apart. Ashley had struggled on, his family rallying around him, but, anyone with objectivity, would have been able to see that he needed a wife. And Melly…Scarlett, felt that Melly, ever practical Melly, would have agreed and understood. She would have wanted her husband to find a new wife to look after him and her motherless son. She wouldn't have felt that his love for her was devalued just because he sought happiness with someone else.

As the waltz finished and another reel began, Scarlett's eyes wandered to India, who was sitting perched on one of the semi-circular settees, champagne flute in one hand and nibbling on one of Dilcey's canapés. India had always been a reluctant dancer – even when she had been younger – and was usually found on the perimeter of a party, her face etched in a sour, disapproving scowl. But tonight, India had embraced the festivities. She had flitted from one group of people to another, demonstrating social skills that Scarlett, and others, had had no idea she possessed. It was almost as though it was her party, as though she was the hostess, from the way she was carrying on and, rather strangely, Scarlett didn't mind.

Scarlett drained her champagne glass, walked over to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, admiring the flickering candles – like a fire blossom – that edged the lawn. Jane was right. The garden did look romantic, like something out of that Shakespeare Dream Rhett had taken her to see in London. But it would be even more romantic if her husband was standing next to her and they were alone.

Her contemplation was disturbed by the sound of footsteps on the patio below. She looked down and when she couldn't see who it was, she stood on tiptoes. It was Jack.

"Hello," Scarlett greeted, as he walked up the steps from the garden to the first floor. It was too late for either of them to avoid each other without appearing rude. He stood on the top step, hesitating, and then he strode over to her.

"Hello Scarlett," he said, smiling at her. "I hope you don't mind me taking a walk in your garden. It was too hot in the ballroom."

She nodded. He didn't need to tell her that he needed to get away from Fanny for a while, too. Fanny, who had clung to him like a leech and hadn't allowed anyone else to dance with him and barely anyone else to talk to him. But who could blame her? Scarlett thought. Jack was a good catch.

"It's been a marvellous party."

"Thank you."

"I don't think I've been to a better one. We're not so sophisticated in Louisiana."

"It's not over yet," she said, as she thought of the fireworks that Pork was going to light at midnight.

He fumbled in his jacket pocket, took out a cigar and lit it. Then, he leaned against the balustrade, smoking.

Scarlett studied him. Swarthy, muscular, masculine, a younger version of Rhett. He wouldn't have made a bad husband. "I hear that you're courting Fanny," Scarlett said. She wanted him to know that she knew and that there should be no awkwardness between them.

He swivelled his head round to his hostess and stared at her for a few moments, as though he was trying to determine if there was more to her statement. He nodded slowly.

"Fanny is a good woman," Scarlett found herself saying. She meant it too. Fanny _was_ a good woman and she deserved some happiness, and her son, a father figure. She didn't really mind that Jack was courting her, her vanity had only been temporarily piqued. And if he did marry her, it might finally lay to rest the guilt she had felt about her husband's death.

"Yes," Jack said. He rubbed his eyes and then puffed a couple of times on his cigar. "And a good mother. Tommy Junior is a good boy."

Scarlett took it as her cue to leave but as she turned round, she heard him say, "Your husband." He paused. What about Rhett? "He's back, I noticed."

Scarlett stopped moving. His back was turned to her and she couldn't make out his demeanour. "Yes," she said simply.

"And you're happy?"

"Yes. I…I think so."

"He's permanently back?"

"Yes," she replied. Even though Rhett hadn't said as much, she was pretty sure he was back permanently. At least as permanently as he could ever be.

"Then, it's all worked out for the best."

He stood up, straightening to his full height and faced Scarlett. She remained mute.

"Hasn't it?" he pressed.

"Yes…yes…I suppose so." She was happy, wasn't she? It had worked out for the best, hadn't it? She could never really have left Atlanta, left to go and live in Louisiana with Jack, could she?

"You suppose so?" His eyes were alert, and she felt them sweep over her face and then her body. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and self-conscious in her low cut gown. She would be happy, blissfully so, if Rhett told her he loved her, if he agreed to have another child with her.

She cleared her throat. "Yes," she replied more definitively. "It's all worked out for the best."

"In that case, do you think your husband would mind if I had your next dance? For old time's sake?"

Scarlett wasn't so sure. Would he mind her being twirled on the dance floor by a man who had proposed marriage to her, of sorts? "I…will Fanny mind?"

"I'll have a lifetime of dancing with Fanny but maybe only tonight to dance with you, Scarlett."

Scarlett smiled up at him. His eyes told her that he still desired her but did it matter? Surely one dance wouldn't hurt? She owed it to him. He had helped her, he had lifted her mood, he had made her feel feminine again. When her husband had only seemed intent on hurting her.

"Let's go and dance," she said.

He held out his arm and she took it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carriages arrived at one o'clock and when Rhett and Scarlett had bidden the last of the guests good night, including Aunt Eulalie, Aunt Pauline and Uncle Carey, who were staying in the mansion, it was half past one. Scarlett dismissed the remaining servants, telling Minnie that she would undress herself tonight, and then she walked up the staircase with Rhett, feeling giddy from the champagne and the party's success.

As soon as they were in their bedroom, Rhett closed the door and turned the key. "I don't want any interruptions tonight," he explained, as he pulled her to him and started kissing her. "Not from the servants, not from Ella, not from anyone."

She reached up to his neck and coiled her arms around him. "I've wanted you to do this to me for at least the last couple of hours," Scarlett murmured.

He pushed her closer to the bed. "Only the last couple? I've wanted to do this to you for the last seven hours. And you made me wait. Spoilsport." His hands traced her breasts and then his lips followed suit. "Really darling, this was a very inappropriate dress to wear," he said, in between his kisses. "From now on, you can only wear it when it is just the two of us for supper. I don't mind men admiring my wife, but leering at her is a bit too much."

Scarlett elicited a soft moan as Rhett started unbuttoning her gown. Within seconds, he had removed the green material and had started untying her stays. "It's been torture not being able to properly touch you," he said. "And seeing you dance with partners other than me…all of whom held you a little too close. And what was Mr Picard doing with you? Remember, I have ears and eyes all over Atlanta-"

"I don't know what you mean," Scarlett whispered as she felt a familiar tingling sensation run over her body.

"-But you're all mine now, and I don't intend to let you escape from my clutches. Until at least midday."

He picked her up, carried her over to the bed and lay her down on the coverlet. Then, as Scarlett unfurled like a butterfly in anticipation, he unbuckled his belt and started to remove his trousers. Scarlett pushed herself up on the bed, propping her body up with her elbows and leaned towards him, ready to meet his kisses with her own. Her plan had worked. The gown she had worn had drawn him to her, like a moth to light. Tonight was going to be the night when he would finally make love to her without any barriers. She had played it perfectly. She had seen him all night, watching her, wanting her. Nothing was going to hold him back.

He threw his trousers on the floor and then began to unbutton his shirt. Then, when he had discarded his shirt, he sat down on the bed and leaned in to kiss his wife. She reached up and ran one of her hands against his left cheek but he caught it and then started kissing her fingers, before working his way up her arm. "You were the most beautiful woman at the party, Scarlett, but, unfortunately, I think you knew that," he murmured, as he ran his fingers down her stomach.

He lay down on the bed and then rolled over so that he was on top of her, the only shield between them his own underwear and her chemise. He gently nipped at her neck and then pushed the straps down on her chemise. Scarlett closed her eyes as her heart began to race. She knew what happened next.

But strangely, nothing did happen, or at least, nothing that she was expecting. She inched towards him on the bed, ready to wrap her legs around him, but as she did so his hands left her body, he stopped kissing her and he rolled away. She kept her eyes closed, hoping that her spell wouldn't be broken. He was probably teasing her. He had always liked to catch her unawares, especially in the bedroom.

When she felt his weight leave the bed she opened her eyes. "Rhett," she whispered. "Rhett, please came back here." But he was no longer looking at her. He was looking underneath the bed and then inside his bedside cabinet. She felt tension flow through her body as she realised what he was looking for. His special box.

"Where is it, Scarlett?" he said finally. The soft, seductive tone had gone and in its place was an accusatory lilt.

"Where is what?" she asked, as she swung her feet to the floor, and put her arms round him, hoping that she appeared nonchalant, despite the rising panic growing inside of her. He shrugged her off, stepped back and stared at her. She was sure her guilt was etched on her face and she tried to avert her eyes.

"Look at me, Scarlett."

She daren't disobey. His face had gone dark and there was malevolence in his expression.

"I thought we had stopped playing games," he said.

"Rhett, really! What are you talking about?" she replied, silently cursing the nervous quiver that had affected her voice.

"I've always told you that you are a bad liar."

"Rhett…" She stepped towards him, hoping that if she could start kissing him again, he would forget about everything but making love to her but his reactions were quicker than hers and he caught her wrists. "Ouch!" she yelped. He didn't release his grip.

"Tell me what you have done with the box." His voice was steely, authoritative.

She looked into his black eyes as she tried to read him. How did he know she had done anything with it? Was he bluffing? "What box? I…I…don't know what you mean, Rhett."

"Yes, you do," he replied, steadily.

"I-"

"Damn you, Scarlett."

"Honestly, Rhett, I don't know what box-"

"You do, Scarlett. The box that I keep my preventatives in."

She swallowed. This was all going horribly wrong but she could still recover. He had no proof. "What makes you think _I _have done anything with it?" she asked, trying to sound hurt.

"Because I know you, Scarlett. You've never been able to hide anything from me."

His eyes scanned the room and then settled on the hearth. The servants hadn't re-made the fire. She had shooed them out of the bedroom when they had started to because she wanted to soak in the bathtub that adjoined their bedroom. Damn.

"Did you burn it?" he asked, suddenly. "Is that why you had a fire yesterday?"

"Rhett, I-"

"I thought it was a little odd to light a fire in September. I thought the room smelt different."

"I felt a chill coming on when I came back from Maybelle's -"

"A chill?" It was obvious he didn't believe her. "On one of the hottest days in September?"

"Ye…yes." She stammered, not daring to look directly at him. "It rained yesterday afternoon and I didn't have-"

"But you were perfectly well enough to go to the concert last night?"

"Am I not allowed to light a fire in my own bedroom?"

"Not in order to burn something of mine, Scarlett. No."

"Rhett, I didn't burn anything!" She felt helpless. This wasn't how it was meant to go. He was meant to have been unable to resist her.

He released his hold and took a couple of steps back. "You are a conniving bitch, Scarlett," he muttered, and then, more loudly. "And the worst liar I have ever come across."

Scarlett looked up at him. He seemed furious with her. How much worse could this get?

He picked up his trousers from the floor and put them back on. Then, he removed his discarded shirt that he had flung over her vanity stool and put that back on, too. Was he leaving her?

Scarlett stepped over her own clothes that were strewn on the floor and placed both of her hands on his left arm. "Darling, I-"

"I would `appreciate it if you took your hands off me, my dear. I am going to sleep somewhere else tonight." He turned and grabbed his jacket.

"Stop!"

He looked at her. "Yes?"

She stood stock still, paralysed.

Some latent, horrible memory resurfaced. She remembered how he had walked away from her once before, from this very bedroom, when she had made what had been the biggest mistake of her life.

He moved towards the door.

"Rhett, no. No. No. Please." She ran after him. Her eyes had started watering but she heard him unlock the door and then she saw him place his hand on it and open it.

"No, Rhett, no," she repeated, her panic now beginning to strangle her. Was he going to go to Belle's? He had promised her! He couldn't go to Belle's! He couldn't leave her! Oh dear God, she had known something like this would happen! He liked her, he enjoyed her but he didn't love her and that was why he could just up and leave!

She ducked underneath his arms, slammed the door shut and locked it. Then, she stood, arms splayed, against the door. She had to keep him in her room.

"Rhett, please. Don't go. Don't." She started crying. He couldn't walk away from her again, even if she had to lock him in her bedroom and throw away the key.

"Scarlett-"

"I don't want us to repeat the same mistakes as last time," she said, brokenly, through sobbing. "You can't leave."

"I'm not leaving exactly, Scarlett. I am going to sleep in another room tonight. Down the corridor. Now, please get away from the door or I'll be forced to remove you."

"No."

"Scarlett-"

"Go ahead. Remove me," she said defiantly.

"Scarlett-"

"No! No! I'm not going anywhere." The tears were streaming down her face now. "You can't leave."

"Scarlett, we can-"

"No!" She didn't want to hear anything from him. "You're right. You're right. I admit it." She wiped her arm against her blotchy, wet face, in a vain attempt to mop up some tears. "I did get rid of the box. I did burn it. I don't know what came over me. But it's only because…it's only because…" Her body started shaking with sobbing again. "It's only because I love you…and because I don't understand why you refuse to have a child with me."

She had obviously said something right, because his face relaxed, leaving behind its black rage.

"Scarlett…" he sighed.

"I…do…love you…Rhett!" she hiccoughed. "Even if you don't love me." She slumped down to the floor, her back against the door and pushed the straps of her chemise back on her shoulders. "Why do you always have to get your own way? Why is having another child such an abhorrent thought?"

"It's not _abhorrent_, Scarlett," he said softly. "It's just…" He allowed his voice to trickle away. "You got your way, too, Scarlett."

"I didn't-" she began to protest.

"I came back, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I-" She stopped abruptly. She had got her way in that respect. But it wasn't what she had expected. She had expected him to tell her he loved her, not just act lovingly towards her. Was this going to be it? A companionable relationship, a friendship without affirmation of his love, even if they were sharing a bed.

"I want a child," she said quietly.

"And what if I don't?"

She didn't say anything.

"Would you call off this whole reconciliation?" he continued.

"No, of course I wouldn't. But I… " She swallowed a couple of times as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I've felt…empty… ever since…ever since Bonnie died. And I want that feeling to go away."

"Any other child we had, Scarlett, couldn't replace Bonnie."

"I know that Rhett," she snapped. "I wouldn't _want_ to replace Bonnie."

"And what if something happened to the child? Bonnie's death almost broke me. I can't go through that again."

"But Rhett, it was an accident-"

"Children die all the time."

"I know, but…our children…well, they would be strong and well…I… I _know_ they would be fine."

"How many children did your parents have, Scarlett?"

"Six," she mumbled.

"And how many died?"

"Three," she said, barely audibly.

"So maybe you…me…we've used up all our luck."

Scarlett glanced across at her husband and furrowed her brow. Her husband could be so cold and logical sometimes. "Is that what you really believe?" she whispered.

He shrugged.

"Is that why you don't want to have another child?"

He looked at her, his black eyes flickering with something.

"Is that why you don't want to have another child?" she repeated.

"Yes," he whispered. Then, he turned round, his back to the door, and slid down onto the floor next to his wife. "Scarlett, I couldn't bear to lose someone I love again. I thought I would die from the pain when Bonnie died and, to a lesser, extent, when James died. I _wanted_ to die." His voice sounded choked. She had never heard him like this. Tentatively, he edged closer to her so that their arms were touching. "And it's not just a child dying. What if the pregnancy killed you?"

"Killed me?" She glanced at him. He wasn't joking.

"Yes, killed you. Remember how unwell you were after your miscarriage? You almost died-"

"But I didn't and I wouldn't have miscarried if I hadn't fallen." She sniffed away some tears. "I'm not like poor Melly. And Doctor Meade, he said that…he said that there was no reason why I shouldn't have another child. In fact, after Bonnie died, he positively encouraged it. He thought it would do us both good to have another child." Rhett looked up at her, with evident disbelief. "It's true, Rhett. Ask Doctor Meade if you don't believe me."

A silence drifted between them and then Rhett spoke. "It's not just about filling _emptiness_, is it though Scarlett? I think you want another child, as some sort of security. Against me." His voice was bland and level, even if his words were not. "In case, I decide to throw in the towel and leave again."

She stared straight ahead, not wanting to give her thoughts away. "No…I…" she began before she stopped, unable to continue. She closed her eyes again. Her head had begun to hurt, from too much champagne, from tiredness, from his words.

"Scarlett?"

She heard him shift closer towards her and then she felt his arm go around her shoulders.

"Look at me, Scarlett."

She didn't move.

"Look at me. Please."

She complied, uneasily.

"You don't need to feel _insecure_. Whether we have a child or not. I'm not planning to leave. I've tried it on too many occasions. And it doesn't work." She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "Haven't I always come back?"

"But October…" Her voice trailed off as the memory of that most painful of conversations came back to her.

"October?" He stared at her with that old intensity, as if he was willing her to understand. "I _thought_ I could leave. I _thought_ I could just walk away. I hoped I could. But I tried it for six months and it didn't work. There wasn't a day – hell, there wasn't an _hour_ - when I didn't think of you. When I didn't wonder what you – and the children - were doing. And at the beginning of March, I realised I had to come back. Yes, in part, it was because of Bonnie's birthday. But that wasn't the only reason. I wanted to see you."

He traced his thumb over the contours of her cheekbones and she tried to look away, but he held her face steadily in his hands. "I _needed _to see you."

She sniffed. "You've never needed anyone, Rhett. Or anything."

He swallowed. "You're wrong. I never _thought_ I needed anyone but the six months I spent away from you were the hardest months of my life. And it wasn't only because of James and Bonnie and my own grief." He pushed her hair out of her eyes and then kissed her gently on the lips. "I can't live without you, Scarlett. And I never want to try to again."

She had willed herself to stop crying when he had started speaking but now she couldn't hold back. The tears streamed silently down her face, dripping onto her chemise. She blinked a couple of times, quickly, trying to regain her composure and then he pulled her closer to him and she reluctantly nestled into his bosom. He was speaking softly to her, but her own hiccoughs masked his words. Then, she felt his lips on her hair, on her neck, she felt his hands go round her waist "You are my life, Scarlett," he whispered. "You don't need a child to tie me to you."

"It's not just my security, Rhett," she stammered. "I want another child to prove that I can be a good mother. Heaven knows I've failed with my first three."

"You don't need to prove anything, Scarlett. And you haven't failed."

"Haven't I?"

"No." He brushed his lips against hers. "Darling, I'm not saying we can never have another child but can we wait? And in the meantime, just…enjoy what we have. You're still young."

"I'm going to be thirty next year, Rhett. That's not young."

"But it's not old."

"I thought this new relationship was about compromise," Scarlett said. She wasn't quite ready to abandon her dream.

"True. But having a child is such a binary decision. It's not as though you can _half_ agree. We either have a child or we don't."

"So you're not saying definitely no?"

He sighed, sounding defeated. "No, I'm not saying definitely no."

"Then, can we agree to discuss it again at Christmas? And in the meantime, you can talk to Doctor Meade if you are really worried about me having another baby."

Rhett smiled. "We can talk about it at Christmas."

He put his hands on the floor and pushed himself up. Then, he held out his hands to Scarlett and hoisted her up.

"Please Rhett," she said softly, "Please stay here tonight. I couldn't bear it if you didn't sleep in here."

"But you've burnt my box Scarlett."

"I know," she confessed.

"I won't be able to touch you, tonight."

"I know," she whispered. "But you could always just hold me."

"And have all that temptation?" His voice was flat but he raised his eyebrows.

"You only held me last night didn't you?"

"Now I know why you suddenly had a headache."

She bit back her retort and continued. "And, if you think I am too much temptation, Rhett," she hiccoughed, "Then, I will sleep on the chaise longue and you can sleep in the bed. I just…I couldn't _bear_ it if you went to another room to sleep tonight."

"You want me to sleep in the same room as you that much?"

"Yes," she replied.

He shook his head slowly and then cupped her face in his hands. "Let's just go to bed, Scarlett."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N Jack was always going to end up with Fanny (although someone did suggest to me a while ago that he should end up with Emma). I wanted her to have a sort of happy ending – she was abandoned somewhat by MM in GWTW. Scarlett indirectly killed poor Tommy Welburn. But Jack – after losing his wife and child – wants a family. Fanny provides that for him (and that was one of the reasons he was attracted to Scarlett. She had a made ready family)._

_I think Rhett is nervous about having a child with Scarlett for similar reasons that Ondine has enunciated in her marvellous The Fall and Murder on Marietta Street. He would see it as a tie – although, to be honest, I have always felt he wouldn't have left Scarlett permanently because he loved and felt tied to Wade and Ella. I also do think Rhett would be reluctant to have another child in case the child died too. The pain of losing a child is so unbearable. I've seen it. You never get over it, you just learn to live with it._

_Rhett would never have agreed to come back to Atlanta if he didn't want his relationship to work with Scarlett – that was why he took her to Europe, almost as a test._

_Chapter 50 is completely blank at the moment – as in, I haven't started writing it. But I have a free week and I might feel inspired. The weather is glorious in London at the moment – but it is somewhat distracting and I want to be outside as I worry that any moment, we will go back to dark, grey skies. But at least Andy Murray won Wimbledon!_


	50. Chapter 50

_A/N This is it. The final chapter. Choppy, further work needs to be done to make it better, but I wanted to publish it now so that my readers can read it. I have probably spent about 30 hours writing this (and several thinking about it) and am still hit with writer's block! _

Chapter 50

After the night of Eleanor and Henry's wedding party, and those that followed, Rhett hardly touched his wife. They still shared a bed and, if she snuggled up to him, he would put his arm around her and breathe in her scent, but he never initiated intimacy and, on the couple of occasions that she had tried to kiss him, he had gently pulled away, before sitting up in bed and lighting a cigar or, worse still, reading a book, until she fell asleep.

Scarlett tried not to panic. Even though she told herself that things would change when he had replaced the box, she felt uneasy and, if she had known how, or where, to acquire preventatives, she would have done so.

One evening, after they had whiled away a pleasant enough few hours at Maybelle and René's, they arrived back at their home shortly after midnight. As they fell into the house laughing, Scarlett slightly tipsy, Minnie appeared in the hallway. Rhett glanced at Scarlett and then at her maid and, without asking his wife's permission, he dismissed her.

When they were in their bedroom, he removed his jacket and cravat and then, Scarlett having slipped out of her midnight blue gown, he unlaced her, his hands hovering over her breasts and the small of her back for just a bit too long to be ignored.

She felt herself blush, uncertain what all this meant, and walked into the privacy of her closet, to change into her nightgown and wrapper. When she came out, he was sitting on the bed, his eyes boring into her and, as soon as she sat down on her vanity stool, he was suddenly beside her, taking her hair in his hands and brushing it. He hadn't done that since they had returned from Charleston.

Once he was finished, she picked up her scent bottle and spritzed lemon verbena on her hair and then, his eyes locked on her, on her décolletage.

"Cathleen once told me that you should always spray some scent where you hope to be kissed," she murmured, suddenly feeling brazen.

He didn't say anything but smiled and then watched her walk over to the bed. But as she started unbuttoning her wrapper, he was quickly by her side.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that old, hungry, lustful look in his eyes. He reached across and touched her arm gently. "Scarlett," he whispered. "Let me. Let me take off your wrapper."

He turned her around so that she was facing him. She felt her knees quiver as he touched the buttons. In moments, he had removed the velvet, so that she was clad only in her nightgown. He caught her gaze and then he reached down and kissed her.

Even though she had been expecting it, the kiss surprised her and she jerked away.

"Don't Scarlett," he said softly. "Don't move away. Unless you want to."

"No…I…no I don't want to. I mean, I want you to kiss me," she clarified, before she felt his moustache tickle her lips again.

She watched his eyes flicker with longing as she felt his arms go tighter around her waist, dragging her body towards him so that it was flush to his own. She felt the familiar tremble in her legs again and then she put her arms round him before he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

He placed her down as he began to remove the rest of his own clothing, his lips never really leaving her own.

"Have you...I mean did you manage to get some new…" She let her voice trail off, embarrassed to refer to the preventatives by name.

He shook his head.

"So…" Again, she stumbled.

He read her confusion.

"It doesn't matter," he said, between kisses. "Unless…unless it suddenly matters to you."

"No…no…I want…I mean…" She pulled away from him so she could properly scrutinise his face. "Rhett…I…are you sure? I mean, we can wait until-" but he cut off her inadequate words with a harder kiss.

"It's been three weeks, Scarlett. And I can't wait. Can you?"

"No. No. I can't," she murmured as she reached up to place her hands round his neck. "But…" She was thinking of a child, how a child might come of this.

"Shhh," he commanded. "No _buts_."

"But…are you ready? I mean, what if I get-"

"Scarlett, please. No more," he whispered and he pushed her down on the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, he held her more tightly than he had in a long while. His right leg was draped over her own, his hands, on her hips. "I've always felt…scared…around you, Scarlett," he said. "Because I always feel so out of control. And having my…box…and using its contents was my way of ensuring I was in control."

"Scared around me?"

"Yes. Because I have never felt like this about anyone else. Not even come close to it. Someone I know once referred to you as my poison. But I think that was the wrong analogy. You are my drug. And, after everything that has happened between us, somehow, rather miraculously we are still _here_," his hands traced the contours of her breasts. "We are still together, thank God, and I don't always need to be wholly in control with you. Not now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the first anniversary of Melly's death, Scarlett awoke early and even though Rhett's arm snaked around her as she tried to leave the bed, she held firm that she needed to start her day. By half past seven, she had breakfasted and fifteen minutes later, just as she heard Rhett coming down the stairs with Ella, she left the house to go to the store. Other than supper at Miss Eleanor's with Aunt Pitty and the Wilkes's, Scarlett had no commitments for the day. And that was exactly what she wanted.

The intense heat of the summer had at last given way to a cooler temperature, and the early morning, crisp air was refreshing, the sky a brilliant, cobalt blue. So different to last year, she mused, as she took the reins. So different to last year, when the rainy mist had only heightened the drama and misery of the day.

She arrived at the store, shortly after eight o'clock, happy to see that there were already plenty of customers in Kennedy's. It had been one of Hugh's suggestions, to open earlier than the other shops, in order to catch the travellers before they departed to Marietta or Jonesboro on the early morning trains.

She greeted her customers and her staff, cordially, and then headed to the back office, with Hugh, to look over a couple of orders. She tweaked them in a few places - more to remind him who was the boss than for any other reason – and then flicked through some correspondence from suppliers before directing Hugh how to answer them. He took her comments graciously, before she turned her attention to some new merchandise that had come in and talked through a couple of new displays with Emma and Mary.

After an hour in the store, she excused herself and drove to the florist. "I'd like to change my order for the house next week, Mrs Williamson," she said as she walked into the flower shop. "White roses instead of yellow please. If you have them. And fewer freesias in the arrangements. I think Ella might be allergic to them. She's begun sneezing again."

The florist obliged and made an annotation in the order book. Then, Scarlett gathered a huge bunch of lilies and blue campanula, paid for them and drove over to Oakland Cemetery. She parked her buggy and walked through the original six acre plot of the cemetery towards its border with the confederate section. She found Bonnie's grave first, and replaced some wilting roses with the fresh campanula and then she moved to Melly's and lay the white lilies by the rotting, wooden cross. She would be back here in a week, she thought, with Ashley and Beau and their families, when Melly's formal headstone would be laid. Just over a year after she had been buried.

By the time she arrived back home, it was almost midday. She handed over the reins of her horse to Thomas, the oldest stable boy, and then she slipped into the house via the kitchen so as to avoid having to walk through the throng of bakery customers to get to her front door.

For once, Mrs Merriwether wasn't there – thankfully, she had popped out to check on the progress of the rebuilding of the bakery – and Scarlett could hear her assistant, Lucy, outside on the front lawn, helping India run the stall and the tea shop.

"'Af'noon, Miss Scarlett," Dilcey said, looking up as Scarlett walked in. Dilcey was hovering over Pansy, helping her roll out some dough. "Ah wasn't 'pecting you bak till later. Ah get yer dinner ready now."

"Don't worry Dilcey. I think I might skip dinner today. I'm not feeling hungry."

"But you doan eat much of yer breakfast either," Dilcey replied.

Scarlett smiled. Whoever would have thought that the quiet, contemplative Dilcey would morph into Mammy?

"I know. I promise I'll eat better tomorrow." She walked over to a side table, poured herself a glass of water from an earthenware pitcher and took a small apple from a bowl. She bit into it and chewed.

"Where's Captain Butler, Dilcey?" Scarlett asked, as she discarded the apple core into a waste pile.

"Mista Rhett gone out. 'Bout an hour ago," she replied.

Scarlett nodded, and then looking round the kitchen for some cordial to take up to her bedroom, she caught Pansy's eye and smiled at her. Pansy shyly smiled back.

"Miss Scarlett, my Prissy en' havin' a baby," Dilcey announced abruptly.

Scarlett pivoted back towards Dilcey.

"Prissy?"

"Yes'm. In February. An' she goin' ter get married, too. Poke tole her if she 'en havin' a baby, she better get married."

"Well, Dilcey, you must take a week off and go to Tara when the baby's born." She paused as she momentarily considered the news. "Do you want to go to the wedding as well? Who is she marrying?"

"Well, ah doan know 'bout goin' ter the wedding." Dilcey cleared her throat, and then steadied her gaze at Scarlett. "De father is li'l Sam."

"Little Sam?"

Dilcey nodded.

Little Sam, the son of Big Sam. Had he really got so old that he was now fathering babies and getting married? But he was a good boy – like his father. Far too good, for someone like Prissy.

"He's a good boy. I mean, he's a good man," Scarlett corrected and then she glanced over to Pansy again, who was trying to cut shapes out of the dough with a blunt knife. "Here, Pansy," Scarlett said, reaching up to take one of Mrs Merriwether star shaped cutters, hanging from one of the numerous contraptions she had installed in Scarlett's kitchen. "Use this."

"But, Miss Scarlett, it's Mrs Merriwether-"

"Mrs Merriwether's not here, Pansy. And besides, she can hardly object when she has used my kitchen for months. Why don't you make some star shaped cookies for you and Ella and ask your mother to bake them? Ella will be finished with Mrs Brickston in an hour or so."

"Miss Scarlett, you see, ah was wonderin'…" Scarlett's eyes swivelled back to Dilcey. She had thought the conversation was finished. What more was there to say about Prissy, the no good fool?

"Yes?" Scarlett said.

Dilcey remained mute, her lips moving but no words coming out. She started clutching the corners of her apron very tightly and staring intently at Scarlett.

"Go on, Dilcey," Scarlett encouraged.

"Ah's know you have lots of servants here, but…well…ah was wonderin' if Prissy and Sam come an' live here."

"What. Permanently?"

Dilcey nodded, slowly.

"I see," Scarlett said, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Good Lord, she did not want Prissy back, living under her roof, Scarlett having to pay her for her lazy ways. Especially if she would be nursing a baby! With all the changes that had happened over the last year, the one change that she hadn't been sorry about was taking Prissy back to Tara with her and leaving her there. Suellen had been none too pleased when Scarlett had told her that she was returning to Atlanta with Mammy and leaving Prissy in her place.

Scarlett swallowed as she looked into Dilcey's pleading eyes and then she sighed as she pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Well…" she began. She dragged a hand across her face, trying to think.

"Ahs know, Miss Scarlett, how good y'all been to me an' my family," Dilcey said hurriedly.

Scarlett looked again at the diligent, faithful servant and her heart softened. How could she and Ella and Wade have got through the last year without Dilcey, Pork and Mammy? And Pansy! Ella adored playing with the little girl more than any of the Old Guard's children.

"I don't know…" she started again, but then she stopped as a vivid image of her parents flashed before her. _They _would have acquiesced to Dilcey's demand. They had always hated how families were sold and split up by slavery. Why, that was how the O'Hara family had ended up with Prissy in the first place!

"Let me talk to Captain Butler about it, Dilcey," she found herself saying, although she knew that Rhett had no more patience than she did with Prissy. "And then I'll have to think of how to handle all of this with Sue. But I am sure we can agree on something."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, she went to her bedroom, using the back, servant stairs. She was intending to lie down for a while but, when she looked at her clock, she realised that she had another five hours before they would be going over to Uncle Henry's and Miss Eleanor's for supper and she needed to fill her time with something.

She changed out of her boots, into some soft leather slippers, removed her hat, loosened the grips in her chignon, that had begun to dig into her head, and then wandered down the corridor towards Bonnie's room.

She hadn't been in the room since her little girl's birthday, but today, on Melly's anniversary she felt drawn to it.

When she entered the room, the curtains were half drawn and she almost tripped over the cardboard boxes that she had asked Dilcey to order in, months ago. She drew back the curtains and then looked at the boxes again. Yes, that was what she would do, she thought. She would sort the room out. She would pack up its belongings and make it habitable again. It would be her final task as Bonnie's mother.

She surveyed the room for a few moments, took a sharp breath in, and then opened her daughter's large, walk-in closet, which had stood, untouched, for the last fourteen months, like a museum artefact. She had forgotten how materially spoiled her daughter had been. There was row upon row of dresses, blue dominating all the other colours, many of which had never been worn. She had had far more clothes than Ella had, or Wade. She had only had to say she liked something before she got it. In multiple colours. And when she returned with Rhett after that three month absence, her wardrobe had tripled in size.

She started rifling through the clothes, before her eyes were drawn to the sapphire blue riding habit that Rhett had ordered – unbeknownst to Scarlett – a week before Bonnie had died, and which had arrived a week after she had been buried. She had remembered opening the package and then swallowing a scream before Mammy had quickly scooped the blue material out of her lap and had taken it away. Scarlett had assumed it had been thrown away, burnt or buried, but Mammy must have decided to place it in the wardrobe.

She started to take it down, but then stopped. Who would have this? she wondered. Who would wear it now? It was too symbolic, too precocious for any child other than Rhett Butler's daughter to wear. She ran her fingers along the velvet and then brushed her face against it.

She wiped a tear away from her left eye as she pushed it to one side, resolving to ask Rhett what he wanted to do with it, and then, inhaling deeply again, her practicality winning through, she gathered an armful of dresses and stripped them from their hangers. She lay them across one of the boxes and then reached up to the rail and took another armful of dresses. Then, she knelt on the floor and started sorting them into three piles: one for Sue's youngest two daughters, one for Anne-Marie Picard and one for Cookie's grandchildren.

Once that task was complete she emptied the contents of the shelves. Cotton and silk socks, vests, drawers and nightgowns tumbled onto the floor and, again, she divided them into three piles and then placed them in the boxes. Then, she did the same with Bonnie's boots and slippers.

She stacked the boxes in one corner of the room and wrote a detailed description of what each one contained. Then, she stood up, arched her back and stretched, before she walked over to the window to open it. She felt flushed, light-headed and tired and slightly rued that she hadn't been more sensible and eaten more than an apple for her midday meal.

She sat on the window ledge for a while, gulping in the cooler air and when her giddy spell had passed, she slid over to the book shelf that was standing next to the window. She flipped through the books briefly and started placing them all in one box. Ella wasn't a great reader – in any event, she had enough books already – and so she decided that they would all go to Sue, whose daughters always seemed to be squabbling about which book was whose. Then, she moved on to the shelves of Bonnie's dolls and wooden toys, and pushed them clumsily into a box. Maybe she would keep them, just in case she did have any other children.

After three hours, the room was bare, save for the furniture, the rocking horse and Bonnie's dolls' house. She would ask Pork to move the dolls' house into Ella's room, the rocking horse into the nursery and she would think about what to do with the furniture later. Then, she lay down on the daybed, her head propped up against the cushions and looked out over the garden. She saw Ella and Pansy walking side by side, picking flowers from the beds and then she saw Wade run across the lawn towards the stable yard, no doubt to ride Red Hunter. She smiled. Her children were getting older and in a handful of years, Wade even less, they would be children no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhett found her dozing on the daybed an hour or so later.

"Scarlett?" he whispered, gently, as the door creaked open and he trod over towards her.

She opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.

"How did you know I was in here?" she said, croaky with sleep.

"Mammy saw you come up here."

"Oh, I see." Of course. Mammy had always had eyes like a hawk and ears like an elephant's.

He walked over towards the daybed and sat down. "Why are you in here, darling, today of all days?" he asked, softly.

She shrugged. She wasn't entirely sure. Only that she had wanted to keep busy. And Melly's death made her think of Bonnie. Sometimes, it felt as though all those horrible events had blurred together into one single event. Bonnie, Mammy, Melly and Rhett.

"I've been meaning to sort out this room and I wanted to keep busy today. It's the first anniversary of Melly's death…" Her voice trailed off, as she felt an unwelcome sob rise in her throat.

"I know, honey. It's not the easiest of days," he said as he reached down to stroke her hair.

She felt her body shake as she tried to compose herself and not cry.

"Oh, darling," he soothed, as he felt her judder. He swung his legs up onto the daybed and pulled her towards him.

"I wanted to do something useful," she choked out.

"You could have done lots of other things, today, to be useful. You didn't have to do…this…"

"It had to be done at some point. And I wanted to do it. And I wanted to be on my own. To think of Melly. And Bonnie."

"I'm sorry that you were on your own all day. It wasn't my intention. But the time rather ran away from me."

"But _I_ wanted to be on my own today. If I had wanted company, I could have told you what I was going to do but I didn't," she said softly.

"You didn't need to tell me what you were going to do today. I could have guessed…" He paused, as he placed a finger to his lips, pretending to contemplate. "You went…to the store and then… to the florist to buy some flowers for Bonnie and Miss Melly and then you went to the cemetery…and then you came back here."

His accuracy made her smile.

"And the day rather ran away from you because you either bumped into an old acquaintance you hadn't seen for a while…" She stopped and breathed in the aroma of his clothes. She couldn't smell any liquor on him. "…Or you were trying to close a business deal."

He grinned. "You know me too well," he said softly. "I don't think I'll ever be able to hide much from you again."

"Good," she sniffed.

He shuffled further onto the seat and then looked around the room, at its eerie emptiness, at the discoloured wallpaper where the letters of the alphabet and where pictures of fairies had hung. After a while, Rhett said, quietly, "I can still hear her in the house, sometimes."

"I can, too," volunteered Scarlett. "And Melly. I can remember Melly in this house, even more than I can in Ivy Street. Her laughter, her role play with the children. Do you remember the day she named Bonnie? Bonnie was never a Eugenie or a Victoria."

"Just as you aren't really a Katie." He squeezed her tightly. "My scarlet woman."

She smiled and then she felt her eyes water again. She shook her head, trying to stop tears from falling. "I can't believe that they're both…just…gone." She brushed her hand across her eyes, and caught a tear on her finger. If she started crying now, she might not be able to stop. And they had supper to go to at Miss Eleanor's and Uncle Henry's later and she would be expected to be strong. For Ashley, for Beau. For Aunt Pitty.

She sighed and burrowed her head into his chest. "You don't mind me clearing the room out, do you?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I should thank you. I'm not sure I could have done it."

"That's what I thought." She paused as she looked at the boxes. "I'm going to give some of her clothes to Matilda and Hetty, Sue's youngest. And, unless you object, I want to give Maybelle some of her other clothes for Anne-Marie. The ones she never wore. The rest...the rest I'll give to Cookie for her grandchildren. Her books…I'll send them to Sue, too. And the dolls' house, I'll let Ella play with it. And then…then, I want to turn the room into a guest bedroom. I don't want any of our children to ever use it again. I mean…if…if of course we ever have any more children," she amended quickly.

He kissed her on her forehead. "You've got it all planned."

"I just thought it was about time."

He nodded, slowly, but when she looked at him, she realised he wasn't looking at her. Something else had caught his gaze. He gently placed his wife's head back onto one of the cushions and went over to the bed and picked up a piece of cream material, stuck between the wall and one of the bed posts. It was an old muslin that Scarlett had used when she had nursed Bonnie and which Bonnie had subsequently tied as a petticoat onto her favourite teddy bear. He ran it through his fingers. Then, he held it to his nose and sniffed it.

Instinctively, she got up from the daybed and walked over to him. She touched his face, gently. He tried to smile at his wife and then he leaned his head into her hand and kissed it.

After a while, as he held her, she whispered, "We're meant to be going over to your mother's tonight. Remember?"

"Yes. I remember," he replied.

"And Ashley and Beau and India will be there."

"I know."

"It won't have been an easy day for them, Rhett."

"Don't worry Scarlett, I'll be good."

"No snide remarks to Ashley?"

"No snide remarks to Ashley."

"Thank you."

They both stood still for a while, looking at the room and at the boxes that represented their daughter's short life.

Then, he put his arm round his wife. "I have something for you, Scarlett. In our bedroom," he whispered down to her.

She twisted her face up to meet his and she saw a flicker of remorse in his eyes.

"Why-"

"Many women, whose husband's walk out on them, wouldn't be quite so forgiving." He stopped and then he leaned in and brushed his lips against her. "I'm aware of what other anniversary today is."

She gave him a watery smile as she tried to hold back her emotions. "I wasn't going to mention it."

"You're a lot more gracious than I am, Scarlett. And a lot more forgiving."

He led her back to their bedroom, holding her hand tightly. When they were inside, he went over to his bedside cabinet, took out a large envelope and handed it to her.

Tentatively, she took it from him. He had written her formal name on it. Mrs Rhett Butler.

She turned it round and felt it. The envelope wasn't heavy or particularly thick and she wondered what could be in it. She picked up a small knife, from the mantelpiece, to slit the envelope. Then she took the papers out and began to read them.

"These are title deeds to a property on Peachtree Street," she murmured. "In my name."

She looked up at him, confused and wary. Was this some sort of bad joke? "I…I thought you liked the house, Rhett. Now that it's been redecorated. I don't understand."

"It's not a house, Scarlett," he said quietly.

She looked again at the papers. Where did it say it wasn't a house?

"It's a small building," he continued. "Two shops down from Mrs Merriwether's bakery." Scarlett continued to frown. "I thought you could open a tea shop. Like the ones you liked so much in London. Like the one in Charleston. I have seen how restless you have become. You don't spend anywhere near as much time as you once did in the store. And it can pretty much run itself, from what I've seen."

She didn't say anything – she was thinking back to their trip in Europe, when she had suggested expanding Kennedy's to cater for a restaurant.

"But you were so…dismissive of the idea."

"Yes, selfishly I was. But I think you were on to something. Especially now that I see how successful the tea shop in our front garden has become. Then, there is India. What is she going to do after Mrs Merriwether returns to her bakery? I thought, perhaps, you could offer India a job…" he looked for a reaction to his suggestion but she was blank. "…Or anyone really, unless you wanted to work in it full time. India could run it, perhaps with Fanny or Maybelle. Or even my mother, when she is in town. And you could oversee it."

"But…" She thought back to their conversation in London, how he had wanted her to spend more time with her family.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. "Call it my penance, Scarlett."

"Your penance?"

"I want you to be happy, Scarlett, and I see how you are never going to be the traditional wife, holding coffee mornings, sewing meetings-"

"But I have been holding sewing-"

"Yes, I know. Sorry, darling. I know you have been hosting sewing meetings and attending some of the fundraising committee meetings. What I mean is, though, _you_, Scarlett O'Hara, need something more than all of that. I want you to be happy, Scarlett, and being a successful business woman makes you happy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following afternoon, Scarlett called on India to put the proposal to her. Scarlett explained that the food would be sourced from the bakery – she didn't want Mrs Merriwether's nose to be put too out of joint by the new venture - India would run it and Scarlett would use her business acumen and help out from time to time. In return, Scarlett would give India thirty per cent. of the profits.

India had looked at Scarlett circumspectly and asked to think it over but the very next day, she stopped by the Peachtree Street house to give Scarlett her answer. Yes, she said, she thought it would be a very good idea and then she started sharing some of her own ideas which Scarlett listened to intently. By the end of the afternoon, they had worked out a detailed business plan, decided on a menu (which included Minnie's special lemon cake) and drawn up some interior plans.

By the time Mrs Merriwether moved her bakery out of the Butler mansion a week before Thanksgiving, the building work on the new tea shop had already started and two weeks later, it was opening its doors to its first customers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of 1874, Mammy was over sixty years old and it was becoming increasingly difficult for Scarlett to ignore her infirmity, her tiredness and her winces of rheumatic pain, even if Scarlett did dismiss her early and ensure that her duties were mostly confined to keeping Ella and Wade in check.

Scarlett, too, had detected a subtle shift in the power between the servants, and it had begun, almost as soon as Scarlett had returned from Charleston. Mammy could still terrify poor William and the stable boys just by giving a shake of her head or by throwing a discerning look, and Minnie and Reena would never dare to disobey the old, great, O'Hara stalwart, but Scarlett had noticed that it was Dilcey that now chastised the servants if they were tardy, idle or overslept, it was Dilcey that would run her hands over the furniture after Minnie or Reena were supposed to have dusted it, and tell them to do it again if she wasn't satisfied and it was Dilcey that came to Scarlett to run through the menus for the week. To all intents and purposes, whilst Mammy hadn't quite relinquished her crown as the most important and the most revered servant, it was Dilcey who now ruled the roost.

Scarlett noticed this and one evening, when she was getting ready for bed, she mentioned it to Rhett. He laughed and told her he had seen it too, but told her that, as Mammy was not kicking up any fuss, Scarlett shouldn't worry. Perhaps Mammy was happy with the change in status quo? he had added.

Scarlett mulled over his words and began to observe Dilcey and Mammy's interactions even more intently and after a while, she decided that Rhett was right. Mammy didn't seem to mind at all, and indeed, a cool friendship seemed to have developed between the two of them.

In early December, a couple of weeks before the family was due to leave on vacation, to spend Christmas with Mr and Mrs Henry Hamilton in Charleston, Scarlett was in her bedroom, sorting out the presents she had bought over the last few weeks and trying to determine what clothes she would take with her for the vacation.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Scarlett called, expecting to see one of her children. But it was Mammy.

"Good afternoon, Mammy," Scarlett said as she lay a couple of day dresses out on the bed. They would probably be conservative enough in Charleston, she decided. Neither of them had too big a bustle, both had high necks and long sleeves.

Mammy mumbled some sort of greeting before she waddled in and closed the door.

"What do you think of these, Mammy?" Scarlett asked, ironing out some creases in the fabrics with her hands. She stepped back to look at them. "Do you think they'll be suitable for Charleston? You know how dreadfully boringly they dress there."

"Yes'm. Ah think so."

Scarlett started humming an old tune she had once known the words to as she examined the materials for dirt – one of them would need to be cleaned before she packed it - and then she walked over to her closet to pull out another couple of day dresses.

"And what do you think of these?"

She held each of them up in turn, against her, to garner Mammy's approval.

Mammy nodded.

"Yes, I think so, too," Scarlett said before tossing them onto her bed and going back into her closet.

"Miss Scarlett, Ah need ter talk to you."

"Well, talk to me, Mammy. I'm listening." But it was clear that if she was listening at all, it was only with one ear and no real concentration. Scarlett was scanning her dresses, pinching some here, picking at some there, smoothing folds.

"Miss Scarlett!" There was a gentle reproach in Mammy's tone, enough for Scarlett to stop fussing with the dresses and to poke her head out of her closet towards her old maid.

"What is it, Mammy? If you want the night off, you know you only have to ask."

"Miss Scarlett, Ah need ter go bak to Tara."

"Is that all? Well, you can visit Tara when we get back from Charleston. You can take the train straight from Charleston after we have celebrated the New Year with Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry. I'll write to Will and Suellen so that someone will be sure to be at Jonesboro station-"

"Ah don't wan' ter jus' go bak to visit," Mammy interrupted. "Ah want ter go bak an' live there."

Suddenly, Mammy had Scarlett's entire attention. She moved out of the closet and stood facing her, her eyes scrutinising the black, wizened face. There was no mistaking her candour.

"Go…go…back?" she managed to stammer.

"Yes'm. Lak ah wen' bak before. After Miss Bonnie."

"But…but…" Scarlett suddenly felt strangled by emotion and started rubbing her face. Mammy couldn't go back to Tara! Not now. Apart from those two early years during the War, she had lived with Scarlett her whole life.

"You can't go back, Mammy," Scarlett managed to say more forcefully. "I need you here."

"Now, Miss Scarlett, no you don'. You has Dilcey an' Minnie an' Reena."

"But they're not you, Mammy." She felt a sole tear trickle down her face and when she focussed again, she noticed Mammy's eyes were watery, too. And heavy, tired and melancholy.

"Miss Scarlett," Mammy began, her own voice choking. "When Ah cam bak 'ere, after Miss Melly die, after you were prostrate wid grief, ah says to myself dat ah only stay until you better. Until you were happy again. Until I doan have to lie awake worrying 'bout you. But now…now…you have yer husband bak – thank the Lord – and he make you happy. An' now, I need to go bak to Tara."

"But why, Mammy? Why do you need to go back to Tara? Aren't you happy here with me?"

"It's not about being happy wid you, Miss Scarlett. Ah love you, lak you were my own chile. But, when ah die, ah want to die at Tara. Ah wan' ter be buried at Tara." She paused and Scarlett saw her swallow. "Tara is my home."

"I…I could make sure you were buried at Tara," Scarlett stuttered, frantically, trying to think of something, _anything_, to make her stay.

Mammy chortled and then shook her head. "Ah, Miss Scarlett. You is-"

"What if I have another child, Mammy?"

"Dere is plenty of good nannies, Miss Scarlett. An' Prissy is comin' bak here in January."

"Prissy might be coming back but…" Scarlett paused, "She is the most useless-"

"She grow up, too, Miss Scarlett. An' in two or three years, you will have Pansy, too. An' ah see yer chile when you come ter visit Tara."

"But what if Rhett leaves me again, Mammy?" Even Scarlett knew that that excuse would no longer cut muster.

Mammy snorted and then laughed. "He aint gwine do somethin' as foolish as dat! Ah already told him that if he ever leave you, Poke will shoot him 'fore he leaves. Or Mista Hamilton will shoot him af'er he leave. But he aint leavin', Miss Scarlett. He crazy in love wid you."

Scarlett stared at the wise woman in front of her and felt her lip tremble, before, finally, she gave way to the floodgates of tears. Unsteadily, she walked over to her bed and sat down, her body hiccoughing with her sobs. There was nothing she could say or do to make Mammy stay. Her mind was made up. She could see that. Oh, how _could_ Mammy leave her again? Why couldn't she be happy in Atlanta? But even as she asked these questions, she knew the answers. Mammy loved Tara as much as Scarlett did. She wasn't leaving because she didn't love Scarlett. Or Wade or Ella. She was leaving because her job was done, she had helped put Scarlett back together, given her the strength to carry on, with or without her husband, and now she wanted to return to the place she considered home, to while away her last few days.

Mammy slowly approached her and then enveloped her in her broad bosom.

After a while, when she felt able to speak again, Scarlett asked, "When do you want to leave, Mammy?"

"Nex' week, Miss Scarlett."

Scarlett nodded. "I'll…I'll write to Will today and I'll ask Pork to arrange your passage home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few days, Scarlett did her best to put on a brave face, even though, whenever she thought of Mammy's impending departure, she would have to bite her lip to quell her tears. Rhett trod carefully around her, listened to her nightly, pour out her sorrow and concern that Mammy was really going back to die, and tried to cajole her out of her low mood by staying around the house more during the day and taking her out in the evenings. He tried to distract her by sharing his thoughts on some of his investments, and tried to get her to opine on whether or not they should financially support a Canadian based, Scottish inventor, who was trying to transmit the human voice by telegraph, but Scarlett barely seemed interested. She seemed lost in her own world.

When the day came for Mammy to leave, Dilcey, Pansy and Ella had baked, and iced, a cake for her and all the servants and the family, including Beau, Aunt Pittypat and Uncle Peter, who had come over specially, had stood round the table in the dining room to wish her well.

As they sipped on tea and lime cordial, they presented her with various gifts. Aunt Pitty gave her a new shawl, Ella, Wade and Beau had bought her some new head scarves and Eleanor and Henry had sent some new crockery, with the letter _M _enscribed on the bottom.

At Rhett's suggestion, Scarlett had arranged for a new bed and new mattress to be delivered to the old plantation. "We want to make sure you get plenty of good, quality rest, Mammy. I've told Sue that you have retired and that she has to look after you. Not the other way round," Scarlett said, biting her lip to stop from crying as she presented the linen to Mammy and told her about the new bed.

"Ah doan need this fuss," Mammy had stammered, trying not to let emotion take over her and then everyone raised a toast before Mammy cut the cake.

An hour or so later, Rhett, the children and Pork accompanied Mammy to the station to say goodbye. Scarlett stayed home, scurrying to the privacy of her bedroom as soon as the front door slammed shut. She refused to come down for supper and when Rhett came up to their bedroom with a tray full of food, she was already undressed and in bed.

"Scarlett, darling, you will see Mammy again," he said as he sat down next to her.

"I hope so," she said, the words muffled by the pillow. "It's all just so painful. I wish she had _told _me how tired she was becoming."

"She didn't tell you because she didn't want to worry you." He stroked her head, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. "Darling, you can go back to Tara whenever you want. You know that."

"But that'll mean being away from you!" she had huffed.

"Not necessarily."

Scarlett turned her head round so that she could take in her husband's whole demeanour. "What do you mean? You never come with me. For the whole time we have been married, you have never so much as set foot in Clayton County."

"Well, maybe I need to change that."

Scarlett looked at him. There was no mockery on his face. He seemed genuine.

"But you always said you didn't much care for the country."

"It's part of you, so I have to care for it a little bit. Or try to. Now, please eat something, Scarlett. The whole house is beginning to get worried about your lack of appetite. You haven't eaten properly for days."

"It's hard eating when you have a knot in your stomach," she mumbled.

He left her for an hour or so, whilst he tucked Ella in bed and read her a story. When he returned, Scarlett had eaten half of the chicken pie and was sitting up in bed, trying to read the latest Godey's Ladies Book. But her mind wasn't on it. All she could think of was Mammy.

Rhett undressed and slipped into bed beside his wife. Then, he pulled her towards him, lit a cigar, and started telling her his own stories about Mammy, some of which she had never heard. They made her laugh and she wasn't entirely sure if he was embellishing them. He had always been rather too good at telling stories.

"She hated me for marrying you, Scarlett," he said. "I'll never forget the dagger looks she gave me, after we had said our vows. There is a lot of truth in the saying, _if looks could kill_."

"She was only trying to protect me," Scarlett scoffed.

"It was me that needed protecting," he chided. He stubbed out his cigar and wrapped Scarlett's thick, ebony hair around his throat. "Thank God we had Bonnie, though. If we hadn't had Bonnie, I'm not sure she would have ever come to tolerate me."

"She loves you, Rhett," Scarlett said.

"She loves you, too. And more."

He slid down in the bed, so that their faces were next to each other. She inhaled the intoxicating mixture of his cologne and cigars and then let out a heavy, contented sigh.

"She would never admit it, but I think she always knew I was the right man for you."

Scarlett playfully hit him with her hand. "You conceited varmint, Rhett Butler."

"Conceited but you know I speak the truth."

Then, he started kissing her. Slowly, leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world. He stroked her body, her curves and pushed back her hair from her face, so that he could see her emerald eyes. He liked it when she looked at him, rather than when she closed her eyes. And then she started kissing him back, covering his body with her own, before she surrendered, completely to him.

Afterwards, she lay awake in Rhett's arms. He had fallen asleep; she could tell by his breathing. She gently wriggled out of his embrace and looked down at him. Her beautiful, imperfect husband. The love of her life. The only real love of her life.

She lay her head back on her pillow as she thought over the events of the last few months. It had been a hard year, but she had survived. And she had been wrong on that horrible, October night, as her world had fallen apart. She had lost people but not everyone. She had still had Wade, her mini-protector and fiercest defender. She had still had Ella, scatter-brained but loving. She had had Uncle Henry, who was watching out for her behind the scenes. And she had had Mammy. Mammy, who dragged her weary body back to Atlanta, to help fix Scarlett's broken heart.

She looked back at her husband and suddenly felt compelled to tell him how she felt. She hadn't told him that she loved him since the night of Miss Eleanor and Uncle Henry's wedding party. It wasn't because she was trying to punish him, but because she felt silly telling him, when he didn't offer up a similar declaration. But she knew that he loved her, even if he wouldn't admit it. He was probably trying to wrestle with losing that last bit of control.

She inched towards him, her body flush against his and reached across his naked stomach. She didn't want to say the three words out loud, in case he heard. Her hand hovered over his stomach and then she started tracing them. _I love you_, she wrote. _I love you_, she wrote again.

Then, she pushed her body higher on the bed and kissed him gently on the cheek. Maybe it was that touch that woke him, or maybe he had been awake all along. She never asked.

"I love you, too," he murmured. "I love you, too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~S&R~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_A/N First of all, a huge, huge thanks to all my faithful reviewers. I can't name you all – and some have drifted off the story. But when I started this, it was Sweet Carolina Butler and Aunt Pitty that really provided the constant encouragement, and Guardian Spirit and Julia. And then, from the middle it has been the wonderful Lawdy Miss Scarlett, Ondine, Dixie, the gorgeous Amaranthe, both Melodies, Wiolka from Poland, Noagnes and then more latterly, Christine, Anna, Joyce, NG Army Wife, festinalente50, Carol. And then intermittently, DarthRipley, Coco B, Blaque Cat, Jen. And throughout it all – Alison. Thank you Alison for sticking with this, even though your interest in GWTW has waned. Thank you for your encouragement, your PMs, your honesty._

_I never thought writing a story would be so hard. Actually, I should correct that, I did know writing a story would be hard because I have tried to write my own fiction on numerous occasions, sometimes writing over 100,000 words but then I get stuck. Getting reviews, hearing that people have a view on your story (good or bad), helps. It helps you correct things, change things, it morphs the story. I hope writing this helps my own writing. Dixie, Ondine, Amaranthe – you are all AMAZING to write so prolifically, and Dixie – I am seriously in awe that you can write so many stories SO QUICKLY!_

_One thing in this chapter – I realised quite a while ago that the children would have slept in the nursery and not had their own bedrooms (with the exception of Wade). So I don't think Bonnie ever had her own bedroom – but as I had referred to it as far back as Chapter 6, and it was a pivotal point in my story, in as much as Rhett watched Scarlett react to Bonnie's belongings and then they ended up sleeping together that night, I couldn't change it. But this is wrong in my story and it is something I may try and correct. But the idea of Bonnie's belongings having to be packed up – that isn't wrong._

_For those that are interested, this is what shaped my story. I never thought that a sane Rhett Butler would leave Scarlett and the children. I think Wade and Ella were his biggest ties – and he would have wrestled with his conscience (I do think he has one) and realised he couldn't abandon them. I do believe that he thought he didn't love Scarlett at the end of GWTW – possibly he didn't. But if she could show him that she could be graceful, peaceful – then, why wouldn't he live with her? Like Chris, I think the last scene could have ended differently if Ashley's name hadn't come up. I don't think he really believed her when she said she loved him. I think he thought she thought she loved him – but he needed to test her._

_When he came back after six months, he came back, in part because of Bonnie, in part because he wanted to see Wade and Ella, but also in part, because he needed to see Scarlett. It was very easy to go to bed with her – as Dixie demonstrated in her Where All Roads End story. And in my story, that sparked something in him. He was definitely still sexually attracted to her but I think he needed to go away and think things through. And Scarlett definitely needed to give him a piece of her mind. He got away so lightly at the end of GWTW (did MM hate Scarlett by then?)_

_I wanted Eleanor and Mammy to help push the two of them together. We are told so little about Eleanor but I imagine she would have whole heartedly approved of Scarlett – and what I think is a shame in GWTW is that Eleanor is made out as the best friend of Eulalie (or is it Pauline? I can never remember!) but this relationship is never explored. Scarlett's maternal aunt and her mother in law are best friends? What a coincidence and yet it might as well not exist. I wonder if MM meant to make this more important than it ended up being in GWTW? Or was it her subtle way of showing that Rhett and Scarlett are very alike?_

_And India – well, I think it is open to interpretation in GWTW that India realised on Melly's death bed that maybe Scarlett didn't love Ashley after all- or that Ashley didn't love Scarlett. What was she "wrong about" that she felt she needed to tell Melly on her deathbed? I also think that Melly dying would have shaken India to the core and she would have realised that Beau needed both his aunts. I hope I haven't depicted their relationship as too sickly but India is also an aunt to Wade so can't be written out of Scarlett's life entirely._

_And my ending was always going to be about Mammy returning to Tara – not necessarily to die but to retire. It was only after writing Chapter 8 that I realised how I was going to get there._

_A few things need to be revised/taken out (I would like to chop about 50,000 words if I can but not sure exactly from where). Not sure Rhett's assault on Scarlett under the table was right at the first ball (I was trying to prove that he was v attracted to her and also wanted to make it clear she was his woman but this is 1870s in Atlanta!). Possibly Chapter 39 was wrong – inappropriate for this story and perhaps inappropriate altogether. Some of the middle section (I am thinking between Chapter 16 and 22) became bloated. So thank you for indulging me and allowing me to write the bloat because – without it, I am not sure I would have finished._

_In any event, I have been almost traumatised by the ending of GWTW ever since I saw the film when I was nine or ten years old. It was shown in two parts over two days over a Christmas holiday and I remember saying to my mother after the end of the first part "Oh, this is such a happy, romantic film." I had fallen in love with Rhett Butler. Well, I must have been a very disturbed child because it is utterly depressing – not just the ending. And then, the next day, after I had watched the second part, I just cried. And cried. So, writing this sequel, has exorcised all those ghosts from that long ago Christmas holiday season._

_This has also provided some form of therapy for me getting over my sister's death. A lot of what I wrote about Bonnie was what I went through or witnessed my parents going through. So if I have laboured the parts about Bonnie's death, it was my form of therapy._

_I am going to take a break from writing GWTW fanfiction but I will, at some point, (probably next year) finish One Night._

_Thanks for reading, and for those that bother to review, thanks so much for reviewing._

_Over and out._


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